In the meantime, at your leisure, give a copy of the Museum to my worthy friend, Mr. Peter Hill, bookseller, to bind for me, interleaved with blank leaves, exactly as he did the Laird of Glenriddel’s, that I may insert every anecdote I can learn, together with my own criticisms and remarks on the songs.

The fowler's lowbell robs the lark of sleep.

This year, Ms. Carey debuted a new Las Vegas revue, and, to celebrate, a group of 36 “lambs,” mostly in their 30s and 40s, boarded a party bus and cruised the Vegas strip for about three hours.[…][picture with “#Lamb4Life”] Ms. Carey among the lambs on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 2015.[…]But in conversations with more than a dozen self-identified lambs, it was her songwriting that was most consistently cited as her defining feature.[…]The lambs’ investment in the arc of Ms. Carey’s life and art echoes that of the fandoms surrounding her ’90s contemporaries who are regarded as “confessional” women singer-songwriters, like Tori Amos and Ani DiFranco.

Harriet became suddenly conscious that every woman in the room was gazing furtively or with frank interest at Wimsey and herself, and the knowledge exhilarated her.