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“Is that him?” said Sister Mary, staring at the baby. “Only I’d expected funny eyes. Red, or green. Or teensy-weensy little hoofikins. Or a widdle tail.” She turned him around as she spoke. No horns either. The Devil’s child looked ominously normal. “Yes, that’s him,” said Crowley. “Fancy me holding the Antichrist,” said Sister Mary. “And bathing the Antichrist. And counting his little toesy-wosies…” — Terry Pratchett Neil Gaiman
Is that him?” said Sister Mary, staring at the baby. “Only I’d expected funny eyes. Red, or green. Or teensy-weensy little hoofikins. Or a widdle tail.” She turned him around as she spoke. No horns either. The Devil’s child looked ominously normal.
“Yes, that’s him,” said Crowley.
“Fancy me holding the Antichrist,” said Sister Mary. “And bathing the Antichrist. And counting his little toesy-wosies…