I feel like L, who I almost knew in college, is like when Daphne du Maurier fell in love with Ellen Doubleday -- though Daphne was born to good station and high intellect, Ellen was just so got-damn classy as to be untouchable. (Also she was married.) I wonder if I could have lunch with L when I am in the city in May, and thence to the Cloisters, and then illicit relations.

Hmmm. I should, naturally, be asleep.