"[That’s a very interesting question,]" Ulrich said, pleased to hear it brought up. "[I often wonder that myself. I might learn the truth if I became a gypsy, but they don’t let gajo do that. We’re both gajo , you know. You’re American and I’m Deutschlander, but we’re both just gajo to these people. These people are nomads, and outcasts, and thieves, and pickpockets, and swindlers, and anarchists, and dirty lumpenproletariate who don’t use life extension or birth control!]" Ulrich looked them over with a certain proprietary joy, then his smile slowly faded to a deeply troubled look. "[Still, all those fine qualities don’t prove that they’re entirely romantic and wonderful.]"