“That’s wholesome. It has a sound moral. But your Bohemians ... they’re not good. Not good or kind. That’s all that matters—goodness and kindness.”
“They are,” obstreperously. “Bohemians are notoriously kinder-hearted and more generous than Philistines.”
The man smiled. “Yes, call me a Philistine. I’m proud of it. But you don’t understand, Deb. How much time does an artist give her husband or her children or her home?”
“His temperament needs variety, I suppose.”
Samson closed his mouth firmly; he was not going to discuss temperament with Deb, who mercifully did not know what she was talking about.
“I wouldn’t let you be dull, little girl, if that’s what you’re afraid of. We could travel.”
“Together or separately?”
He laughed at the joke. “And you wouldn’t want to see so much of your friends ... we’re a very united family, you know, and Beatrice and Flo and Esther are always together.”
A very united family—God, yes!