Although the situation must have had even then the approximate tragic stature of Scott Fitzgerald's failure to become president of the Princeton Triangle Club, the day that I did not make Phi Beta Kappa nevertheless marked the end of something, and innocence may well be the word for it. This failure could scarcely have been more predictable or less ambiguous (I simply did not have the grades), but I was unnerved by it I had somehow thought myself a kind of academic Raskolnikov, curiously exempt from the cause-effect relationships that hampered others.
I had not been elected to Phi Beta Kappa.
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