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Updated: May 5, 2025
Once, when a delicate piece of bric-a-brac had been broken and the china-mender asserted that it could not be mended, Perkins had said, "See if Burke can't fix it," and Burke had fixed it; and as final tribute to this wonder, Perkins had said, in suffering: "My dear, I'm afraid I have appendicitis. Send for Mr. Burke." "Mr. Burke!" echoed his wife. "Yes, Mr. Burke," moaned the sufferer.
And all about him was the perpetual hum of Paris, the roar of the carriages, the surging sea of footsteps, the familiar street-cries, the gay distant whistle of a china-mender, a navvy's hammer ringing out on the cobblestones, the noble music of a fountain all the fevered golden trappings of the Parisian dream.
Yes, yes Ventnor. Till you sent me from you Mrs. Dale. It's so easy to be heroic when one is young! One doesn't realize how long life is going to last afterward. Ventnor. But the time comes when one sends for the china-mender, and has the bits riveted together, and turns the cracked side to the wall Mrs. Dale. And denies that the article was ever damaged? Ventnor. Eh?
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