may be, you are laughing too.

Do you feel dismal, or anxious? You should hear L. tell a story. She
is one of the very few who can undertake with impunity to talk and
laugh at the same time. Look and listen, while she describes some
comic occurrence. There is no unladylike, boisterous noise, but
musical peals of laughter come thick and fast; and faster and thicker,
preternaturally fast and thick, come the words with them. And yet each
word is distinct; you do not lose a syllable. And I should like to see
the man who can resist her, if she chooses he should laugh, even at
his own expense.

There is an odd sort of power, too, in the gravity with which B.
tells a humorous anecdote. He invariably maintains a sober face while
every body is in an agony of laughter around him. Just as it begins to
subside, the echo of his own wit comes back to him, and, as if he had
just caught the idea, he bursts into one little abrupt explosion, so
genuine, so full of heartiness, that it sets every body off upon a
fresh score.

Nothing so melts away reserve among strangers, nothing so quickly
develops the affinities in chance society, as laughter. A person might
be ever so polite, and even kind, and talk sentiment a whole day, and
it would not draw me so near to him as the mutual enjoyment of one
heartfelt laugh. It is a perfect bond of union; for the time being,
you have but one soul between you.