Raymond says:

I had forgotten to look for you. Your pictures. Locked in drawers – the bottom ones – to escape the temptation. To avoid getting distracted from Mr. Gorbatchev, Mr. Reagan, walls and federations, parliaments and constitutions. To avoid love. I mean: you. Ten full years spent in a box: a junkie, yes, but an academic junkie, nevertheless. One of the students looked like you. My career was in danger for five seconds. Then I looked beyond her, as I usually do.