'With a man in Soho. I pay part of the rent of a flat, and stop there
when I like.'
'Good idea--have a place more or less your own,' said Gerald.
'Yes. But I don't care for it much. I'm tired of the people I am bound
to find there.'
'What kind of people?'
'Art--music--London Bohemia--the most pettifogging calculating Bohemia
that ever reckoned its pennies. But there are a few decent people,
decent in some respects. They are really very thorough rejecters of the
world--perhaps they live only in the gesture of rejection and
negation--but negatively something, at any rate.'
'What are they?--painters, musicians?'
'Painters, musicians, writers--hangers-on, models, advanced young
people, anybody who is openly at outs with the conventions, and belongs
to nowhere particularly. They are often young fellows down from the
University, and girls who are living their own lives, as they say.'
'All loose?' said Gerald.
Birkin could see his curiosity roused.
'In one way. Most bound, in another.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130