This afternoon I finished the last of Elizabeth Jane Howard's Cazalet quartet, and feel bereft - I miss the characters already. I've started Eva Rice's The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets (which I, along with what seemed like all of you, bought a few weeks ago), but it's not hitting the spot yet. I found the Cazalet books enormously compelling - I've been reading a bunch of other books at the same time, of course, but every time I picked up whatever Cazalet I was on at the time, I literally couldn't put it down until I absolutely had to. And now I have no more of the story to read, and I'll never know what the characters did next, and I feel rather forlorn. This isn't helped by the fact that I'm absolutely knackered thanks to staying out until five in the morning. I shall spend the evening watching the dodgy Miss Marple adaptation on ITV, lying on the couch with Chairman Meow (Ju Ju's new nickname) sitting on my feet. Her rumbly purring is strangely soothing.