Retrieved What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw a.k.a. 4:50 from Paddington to reread. Started rereading in the foyer overlooking the driveway, with a lit candle in the carved, soapstone holder. A soft drizzle outside. It's the kind of Miss Marple novel I like, in which she is not someone else's guest but is in her own house in St. Mary Mead. Tea, homemade wine, dinners. After the fist chapter I couldn't help but have a cup of tea with two vanilla cupcakes.

V. visited and broke my cozy fantasy, though.