Good morning!
It’s Saturday, and we’ve just come from a stroll through the Montparnasse Cemetery. What fun to see so many old friends!
Beaudelaire looked as chipper as ever. Marguerite Duras wanted to make sure I conveyed her regards. I caught Eugène Ionesco and Samuel Beckett gossiping about Sartre, who pretended not to notice—or maybe he really was dee…