There was even a daub on the side of her handsome sensitive nose.
Her hand, still filled with clay, dropped to her side, and a tableau endured for a minute or two, suggesting a remote period, a Persian idyl, mayhap.

With a smile on her lips she stared at the living model.
The chatoyant eyes of the leopard stared back, a flicker of restlessness in their brilliant yellow deeps.

The tip of the tail twitched.
"You beautiful thing!" she said.
She began kneading the clay again, and with deft fingers added bits here and there to the creature which had grown up under her strong supple fingers.
"Kathlyn! Oh, Kit!" The sculptress paused, the pucker left her brow, and she turned, her face beaming, for her sister Winnie was the apple of her eye, and she brooded over her as the mother would have done had the mother lived.
For Winnie, dark as Kathlyn was light, was as careless and aimless as thistledown in the wind.
A collie leaped upon the platform and began pawing Kathlyn, and shortly after the younger sister followed.

Neither of the girls noted the stiffening mustaches of the leopard.

The animal rose, and his nostrils palpitated.