A grave is no place for you, Satan, but I wish you were in it with me, Emlyn.

You _must_ have been a witch, since, after you, I could never fancy any other woman, which is against nature, for all's fish that comes to a man's net.

Evidently a witch of the worst sort, but, my darling, witch or no I wish you weren't dead, and I'll break that Abbot's neck for you yet, if it costs me my soul.

Oh! Emlyn, my darling, my darling, do you remember how we kissed in the copse by the river?
Never was there a woman who could love like you." So he moaned on, rocking himself to and fro on the legs of the corpse, till at length a wild ray from the red, risen sun crept into the darksome hole, lighting first of all upon a mouldering skull which Bolle had thrown back among the soil.

He rose up and pitched it out with a word that should not have passed the lips of a lay-brother, even as such thoughts should not have passed his mind.