I have extolled on these pleasures before, but re-reading Mary Wesley has reminded me of how enjoyable re-reading can be. Having a very unreliable memory and having phases of avid reading I tend to forget huge chunks of things I've read.

I'll remember some edited highlights and general gist of novels, so re-reading is strange mix of expected and unexpected. For example, I'd totally forgotten the beautiful cross-dressing young black man with skill to climb through windows in 'Harnessing Peacocks'.

And although I remembered general outcome of novel, I still wondered quite how certain strands would come together. Since then I've read 'The Vacillations of Poppy Carew' and have just started 'Not That Sort of Girl'

I love Eggbod's comment about MW's comment on death and soixante-neuf. Mary Wesley was certainly one of a kind.