"Why do you say," she began after a brief pause, "that this is not a life for you any more?"
"Because it isn't."
"But why isn't it?"
"For one reason, because I don't like it."
"Oh!" She was not expecting this reply and it displeased her. "What's the matter with it?"
"For me, everything. But it's nothing that you would understand."
"I suppose I could understand if you explained to me."
"No, you couldn't. Or, rather, I couldn't. The language isn't coined that would give me the words to tell you. It's not the facts of the life I dislike; it's the spirit of it."
"Is there anything wrong with the spirit of it?"
"I'm not saying so. I merely dislike it for myself. For me it's not a real life any more. I belong to—to simpler people with less complex ideas."