"I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. ’ ‘Ah. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me.
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