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He got off my table and, looking up at the ceiling, cocked his beard a little awry; at the same time making it stick out before him. 'Adoration, or a vow of vengeance, he observed. He turned his profile to me, making his upper lip very bulky with the upper part of his beard. 'Romantic character, said he. He looked sideways out of his beard, as if it were an ivy-bush. 'Jealousy, said he.
As they waited the extra three minutes for Gloria, and, by polite assumption, for Rachael, he was unable to take his eyes from her. She would turn her head away, lowering her eyelashes and biting her nether lip in an amazing exhibition of coyness. She would rest her hands on her hips and sway from side to side in tune to the music, saying: "Did you ever hear such perfect ragtime?
I am not a great preacher, I know, but then there are worse. I don't, at least I think I don't, talk nonsense. And I am not what Mr. McFettridge calls a 'good mixer. On the other hand, I think Mr. Innes is right when he says the bairns like me; at least, it would break" he paused, his lip quivering, then he went on quietly "it would be very hard to think they didn't."
His cleft upper lip trembled imperceptibly, and disclosed his long incisor teeth. Then his stubble-colored legs which were his traveling boots with their worn and broken claws extended. And he bounded over the hedge, rolled up like a ball, with his ears flat on his back.
She, woman as she was, would have gone into battle with the courage of a Cæsar, the constancy of a Hannibal; but this son of hers, in whose veins flowed the cowardly northern blood, what could she expect of him, the son of Jude Rush? and she curled her lip with contempt for both father and son. She ceased to mention his name, and revealed to no one that he still lived.
Even Sally, in her own gentle way, could declare war. The perfect curve of her upper lip grew thin as she said it, like a bow that straightens itself after the arrow has sped. Traill cast a swift glance at her, comprehending that there lay some meaning behind her words, yet knowing nothing of the duel that was being fought under his very eyes. Mrs. Durlacher smiled.
The lips, once so pensively sweet, had grown hard; on the brow that had seemed to laugh when the lips did, there was no longer sympathy between brow and lip; there was scarcely seen a fine threadlike line that in a few years would be a furrow on the space between the eyes; the voice was not so tenderly soft; the step was haughtier.
Frowning and dropping his lower lip, he was looking intently at a big dog's-eared picture-book. Another peasant lay stretched on the floor near the stove; his head, his shoulders, and his chest were covered with a sheepskin he was probably asleep; beside his new boots, with shining bits of metal on the heels, there were two dark pools of melted snow.
It was plain to Claire that nobody understood, and she felt a dreary futility as she answered both her mother and Mrs. Finnegan with: "It's a long story. Some other time, when ... when you're feeling better." A look of gray disappointment crossed Mrs. Robson's face. Mrs. Finnegan's upper lip seemed shaped suddenly with a suspicion that died almost as quickly as it began.
Me girl may die like a rabbit for all they care." The man's voice broke, as he halloed particulars. "Paddy's Rest? On a night like this? Why, the creek will be out." "Doctor! you're from th' ould country, I can hear it in your lip. Haven't you a wife, too, doctor? Then show a bit o' mercy to mine!" "Tut, tut, man, none of that!" said Mahony curtly.
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