I suppose it is bound to happen once in a while.
I set out to read the 2nd book in the series of Call the Midwife because I was in the mood for babies. Sweet, precious, life-giving stories of birth.
but instead I got:
Stories of workhouses and soldiers and old age and loneliness.
The stories were quite good. They were educational. I am glad to have read them.
I was in the mood for the sweet contentment of birth stories.
I leave you in quite a rumpled state of mind and off to search for a title that matches the story inside the cover.
I am not feeling slighted. Just a little off kilter.