Deceased sat wearily down by me, and wiped his os frontis with his major maxillary--chiefly from former habit I judged, for I could not see that he brought away any perspiration.
"It is too bad, too bad," said he, drawing the remnant of the shroud about him and leaning his jaw pensively on his hand.

Then he put his left foot up on his knee and fell to scratching his anklebone absently with a rusty nail which he got out of his coffin.
"What is too bad, friend ?" "Oh, everything, everything.

I almost wish I never had died." "You surprise me.

Why do you say this?
Has anything gone wrong?
What is the matter ?" "Matter! Look at this shroud-rags.

Look at this gravestone, all battered up.