Karl Marx, living in chronic indebtedness in Soho and often barely able to put food on the table, employed a housekeeper and a personal secretary. The household was so crowded that the secretary—a man named Pieper—had to share a bed with Marx. (Somehow, even so, Marx managed to put together enough private moments to seduce and impregnate the housekeeper, who bore him a son in the year of the Great Exhibition.)
Ah yes, the old Well Where Else Should I Have That Comely Young Man Sleep, Vicar? excuse for the men in your bed. I mean, who among us has not had occasion to blame over-crowding...
