They did not know why they wandered about such--in and out of doors, trying to remember what it was that they had set out to do, anxiously shuffling papers about to pass the time.  Things and numbers and best laid plans jostled about in their heads but the seasons progressed and the daily pratfall routines turned from bright shades of laughter to awkwardly rolling eyes, then dark hues of pity and anger.  There was an occasional slaughter or two, but not so frequent to spoil the picnics, and anyhow flowers do grow upon corpses, and dreams do fade in the light of day.  But you never did believe in those shimmering illusions that the light likes to play, now did you.