"Bother Mr. Birkerts!"
'IS it Mrs Harris?'
'No, Betsey Prig, it ain't,' was Mrs Gamp's reply.
'Well!' said Mrs Prig, with a short laugh. 'I'm glad of that, at any rate.'
'Why should you be glad of that, Betsey?' Mrs Gamp retorted, warmly. 'She is unbeknown to you except by hearsay, why should you be glad? If you have anythink to say contrairy to the character of Mrs Harris, which well I knows behind her back, afore her face, or anywheres, is not to be impeaged, out with it, Betsey. I have know'd that sweetest and best of women,' said Mrs Gamp, shaking her head, and shedding tears, 'ever since afore her First, which Mr Harris who was dreadful timid went and stopped his ears in a empty dog-kennel, and never took his hands away or come out once till he was showed the baby, wen bein' took with fits, the doctor collared him and laid him on his back upon the airy stones, and she was told to ease her mind, his owls was organs. And I have know'd her, Betsey Prig, when he has hurt her feelin' art by sayin' of his Ninth that it was one too many, if not two, while that dear innocent was cooin' in his face, which thrive it did though bandy, but I have never know'd as you had occagion to be glad, Betsey, on accounts of Mrs Harris not requiring you. Require she never will, depend upon it, for her constant words in sickness is, and will be, "Send for Sairey!"'
Tom is having a little bit of sport with Sven Birkerts (for some reason the image of a sea lion playing with a beach ball comes to mind and won't leave), having reportedly spotted the figure of the critic, lorgnette in hand, peering over the clouds of Olympus at the antlike bloggers below and giving the most decorous little shiver.
That's assuming Birkert exists. I've read the writing of the purported Birkerts over the years and I suspect that some sort of late-20th century Gamp-like person invented him. I wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn that he is the handiwork of a man named Carl living in an expensive and ugly converted garage in Canoga Park or possibly El Segundo, beaming this Imaginary Literary Entity Birkerts out at the world for our sins. The Birkerts Entity claims his hair is graying. Hah! Nice try. Entities don't have hair. With Betsey Prig I say, "I don't believe there's no sich a person!"