Blanche: I knew you shouldn't have gone to Columbia University. It's in New York City, for heaven's sake. A subway runs right through it. You want to go to college where there are green lawns and willow trees and young men in chinos and ties. And professors with just a touch of gray at the temple. Wise, learned men who look up your skirt if you're sitting in the first row. Meetings with them so they can explain Plato. And they lean over your books with you and you can smell their pipe tobacco and their maleness. Then their arm accidentally brushes against your bosoms and the room is filled with the heat of a taboo lust.