[[The private journal again]]
This is going too far and too, too fast.  An inch at the pace of a dying snail would be too far and too fast.  Why do I trust him?  Why do I care that he trust me?  When was the last time I gave a damn for that beyond professional necessity?  I had thought I'd outgrown that sort of foolishness.

I have never minded the looks in the eyes of those who think me a traitor; why, then, was I so stung to see his face today?  It is sentiment, and both stupid and dangerous.

Also both stupid and dangerous, breathtakingly so:  I have given him this address.  I don't know whether it would be worse if he came or if he did not.