History society banquet was quite unusual—in food, that is. An entire smoked quail! Turtle soup! Veal! But generally good. The turtle soup had a lemon-lie taste, but that may have been the recipe, not the turtle. Lots of people didn’t eat it.
I sat next to a beautiful blonde undergraduate, originally from Liverpool, proud of her affirmation to socialism who didn’t join the toast of the queen, and was embarrassed to be at this big feast as a socialist. Sort of an interesting conversation but I had the distinct feeling she was dying to get away. Oh, well. What can you expect from a 19-year-old. I haven’t seen her again since, but I have the feeling I’ll be lucky if she even says hi. It was one of those “non-acquaintance” conversations—you know, when you chat with someone one time then, the next time you see them, they’ve forgotten you exist? Ah, well.
—March 9, 1988, Cambridge
OtD 