Reading the books out of sequence didn’t hurt anything; the stories are self contained.
Great books are like a seduction, an intimate relationship between reader and writer. When the writer’s command of the language is sure, the reader will moisten the fingers and caress the story as it unfolds, soon “mmm-ing” and “ah-ing” as another pleasure is laid bare. Eventually the writer has the reader in the throes of a passion and an ecstasy until ultimately the reader is panting, lying naked, and in a fevered delirium!
Or is that just me?
Book three, A Mixture of Frailties, closes out the trilogy, so I’ll be reading that next. And maybe smoking a cigarette.