Ursula looked round amazed, the laughter was
bubbling out of her involuntarily. She looked at Gudrun. Gudrun looked
at her, and the two sisters burst out laughing, carried away. Loerke
glanced at them swiftly, with his full eyes. Birkin was sniggering
involuntarily. Gerald Crich sat erect, with a glistening look of
amusement on his face. And the laughter crashed out again, in wild
paroxysms, the Professor's daughters were reduced to shaking
helplessness, the veins of the Professor's neck were swollen, his face
was purple, he was strangled in ultimate, silent spasms of laughter.
The students were shouting half-articulated words that tailed off in
helpless explosions. Then suddenly the rapid patter of the artist
ceased, there were little whoops of subsiding mirth, Ursula and Gudrun
were wiping their eyes, and the Professor was crying loudly.
'Das war ausgezeichnet, das war famos--'
'Wirklich famos,' echoed his exhausted daughters, faintly.
'And we couldn't understand it,' cried Ursula.
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