Gomez : [Morticia wakes up] Unhappy, darling? Morticia : Oh, yes. Yes completely. [Gomez sits] Morticia : Gomez... Sun. Il me perce comme un poignard. Gomez : Oh, Tish. That's French. Morticia : Oui. Gomez : Cara mia. [kisses Morticia's hand] Gomez : En garde, Monsieur Soleil! Morticia : Gomez... Gomez : Querida? Morticia : Last night, you were unhinged. You were like some desperate howling demon. You frightened me. Do it again.
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