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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