They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. It is repulsive. Mr. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city.
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