and they sat near they friends and laughed in they french beards about they nerve and sad lack of they form and where they kept they manners was beyond they , and such a dreadful bore with they never a new thought or a novel interpretation for they , always they beautiful causes and they beautiful soul and they beautiful structure and they beautiful lines and they beautiful death and they beautiful boom , they was all hopeless was they not of course they was but theyd done it to they selves , all they , unfair was they , not at all , they but translated what they said and what they thought into a symbolics of cogency and imbued with they refinement for how else was they to stomach they incessant poison drivel ; they was so good in losing translation that they almost succeeded in they making some final and sad sense .