What Sir Horace Wyvern had seen in Mr.Narkom's private office at Scotland Yard on that night of nights more than two years ago, Sir Horace Wyvern's niece saw now.
"Oh!" she said, with a sharp intaking of the breath as she saw the writhing features knot and twist and blend.

"Oh, don't! It is uncanny! It is amazing.

It is awful!" And, after a moment, when the light had been shut off and the man beside her was only a shape in the mist: "I hope I may never see you do it again," she merely more than whispered.
"It is the most appalling thing.

I can't think how you do it--how you came by the power to do such a thing." "Perhaps by inheritance," said Cleek, as they walked on again.

"Once upon a time, Miss Lorne, there was a--er--lady of extremely high position who, at a time when she should have been giving her thoughts to--well, more serious things, used to play with one of those curious little rubber faces which you can pinch up into all sorts of distorted countenances--you have seen the things, no doubt.