I have a cold again.

Fortunately, it is rainy, which is just how I like it to be when I have a cold, and I have just begun another good book, The Portrait of A Lady, Henry James. The novel begins like this:

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or not--some people of course never do--the situation is in itself delightful. Those that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid summer afternoon. Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth, dense turf.

...which sets a wonderfully cosy scene that I believe is just perfect for creating the snuggly atmosphere I need right now. So, as the weather and the novel are so obliging of my mood, I must away to indulge in my sniffles and read until my sore head bids me stop, or the beautiful language combined with the sound or rain drumming on the roof lulls me to sleep. I promise to return and post when my head is working better.