I read and reread and recommended and rarely rejected, became one of those readers who will read trashy stories as long as they're not too terrible–well, even perhaps the truly terrible ones–and will reread something she's already read, even if it's something like a detective novel, when you'd suspect that knowing who had really killed the countess would materially detract from the experience. (It doesn't, and besides, I often can't remember who the murderer was in the first place.)
