Crone

Some triple goddesses have the forms maiden, mother, and crone.

The old crone "nichered" a laugh under her bonnet and bandage; she then drew out a short black pipe, and lighting it began to smoke.

Mary is secretly a 3,000-year-old crone disguising herself with magic.

But still the crone was constant to her note.

“And what is your name, crispy, old, wizened crone?” “Oh, my name's Helen.” “Hel-- Oh, just Helen. That's it. Just Helen?” “Helen the Magic Woman.” “And you can help me rid myself of this disgusting hex?” “Yes.”

With black unseeing eyes the old woman, the crone, stares at him and through him. Over and over she mutters a word that he cannot quite catch, something like Toomderoom.

“Let's welcome the most beautiful girl I know and I've ever met. My good lady wife Nadja. Come on.” “Oh, she's right here. I've got her.” “I'm here.” “Quiet, crone! Hello, everyone. Thank you all so much for coming.”

In traveling homeward, buy forty good crones, and fat up the bodies of those seely bones

The old crone [a negro man] lived in a hovel, in the midst of a small patch of potatoes and Indian corn, which his master had given him on setting him free.

A few old battered crones of office.