‘Per week. Yes. As to the amount of strain upon the intellect now. Was you thinking at all of poetry?’ Mr. Wegg inquired, musing.
‘Would it come dearer?’ Mr. Boffin asked.
‘It would come dearer,’ Mr. Wegg returned. ‘For when a person comes to grind off poetry night after night, it is but right he should expect to be paid for its weakening effect on his mind.’
-Charles Dickens, Our Mutual Friend