Ah, ca ira, ca ira, ca ira! Come cross quickily! I am Madame la Morgue--Mrs.Deadhouse! I will present you my friends, Monsieur Cadavre and Monsieur Squelette.

Come, come, leetle mortal, let us play.

Ouaah!' And she uttered a horrid yell from her enormous mouth, and pushing her wig and bonnet back, so as to show her great, bald head.

She was laughing, and really looked quite mad.
'No, Madame, I will not go with you,' I said, disengaging my hand with a violent effort, receding two or three steps.
'Not enter the churchyard! Ma foi--wat mauvais gout! But see, we are already in shade.

The sun he is setting soon--where well you remain, cheaile?
I will not stay long.' 'I'll stay here,' I said, a little angrily--for I _was_ angry as well as nervous; and through my fear was that indignation at her extravagances which mimicked lunacy so unpleasantly, and were, I knew, designed to frighten me.
Over the stepping-stones, pulling up her dress, she skipped with her long, lank legs, like a witch joining a Walpurgis.