She marched the shrinking ghost-seer down to the spring and ordered her to proceed straightaway over the bridge and into the dusky retreats of wailing ladies and headless specters beyond.
"Oh, Marilla, how can you be so cruel ?" sobbed Anne.

"What would you feel like if a white thing did snatch me up and carry me off ?" "I'll risk it," said Marilla unfeelingly.

"You know I always mean what I say.

I'll cure you of imagining ghosts into places.

March, now." Anne marched.