The other night Howard and I had my friend Mitch over for dinner. We made an attempt at cavatelli pasta and meat sauce, and had salad and wine. Afterwards I took a hot bath and read. I'm in the last section, "Sunset and Sunrise," and finding it more moving than ever; especially touching is the marriage between Harriet and Nicholas Bulstrode. Who would think such an unpleasant character could call forth such emotion? But really, it's because he married well.

I wanted a big, long book to last me through the winter, and of course I'm finishing it only four days into the actual cold and snow of Chicago winter.