“What may a cat look at?” said I.
“The broth,” said my friend Annabel Lee.
“What does many a mickle make?” said I.
“A multitude of sins,” said my friend Annabel Lee.
“What do too many cooks spoil?” said I.
“Us all,” said my friend Annabel Lee.
“Whom does conscience make cowards of?” said I.
“Dead men and fools,” said my friend Annabel Lee.
“What is it that has no turning?” said I.