“Perhaps I’ll go, since I’m in the way.”
“Touchy Goose,” Sister Ursula murmured wheeling round with a glance of complex sweetness.
“Ah, Ursula,” Laura sighed, smiling reproachfully at her friend.
She had long almond eyes, one longer and larger than the other, that gave to her narrow, etiolated face, an exalted, mystic air. Her hair, wholly concealed by her full coif, would be inclined to rich copper or chestnut: Indeed, below the pinched and sensitive nostrils, a moustache (so slight as to be scarcely discernible) proved this beyond all controversy to be so. But perhaps the quality and beauty of her hands were her chief distinction.
“Do you believe it would cause an earthquake, if we climbed out, dear little one, upon the leads?” she asked.
“I had forgotten you overlooked the street by leaning out,” Laura answered, sinking fatigued to a little cane armchair.
“Listen, Laura...!”
“This cheering racks my heart....”
“Ah, Astaroth! There went a very ‘swell’ carriage.”
“Perhaps I’ll come back later: It’s less noisy in my cell.”