All language subtitles for The Great S03E08 Peter and the Wolf 1080p HMAX WEB-DL DD5 1 H 264-playWEB (1)_track3_[eng]

- No.
- Yes.

I don't want to argue.

Stop speaking.
Merely nod, and we won't be.

Let me bring logic to bear.

Let's bring the bear to logic instead,
so it may maul its dull ways.

I find logic so lacking in imagination.

And yet, it always has
a strange logic to it.

There is an army massing
on the Swedish border

and your nephew at the bottom of a lake.
Who is moving faster?

Sorry. Logic doesn't allow for feelings.

Apologies.

Not at all.

There will be floods of tears
on this trip. Be prepared.

- I've seen a lot of tears.
- Caused your share, I imagine.

Afraid so.

A woman was once so in love with me

that she would cry
whenever she saw me.

I felt for her for a while,
and then it became plain annoying.

I'll need to hear more
of these stories at the lake,

which we're on our way to first.

Apparently, it's still pretty solid.

- You judge with your head?
- How my father taught me.

Did it ever occur to you
it was a joke at your expense?

Not till now, but...

that would make sense.

This is the place.

How do we get him?

- We might have to wait for summer.
- I can't leave him now I'm here.

- Right. I hate to revert to logic, but--
- He's not going anywhere.

It was my point

and sounds even stronger
when someone else says it out loud

in a more direct way.

I am also not going anywhere.
If you need to leave, leave.

I'll just kill a wolf for food
when I need it.

Why do I suspect that's true?

I once ate rare wolf chops in the snow
with Peter the Great.

A real treat.

I'd love to hear
some Peter the Great stories.

I'd love to hear how
we're getting Peter up here.

Got it. Cannons.

We get cannons,
and we launch a hundred cannonballs.

That would be both fun
and also visually brilliant.

And time-consuming,
as we need a hundred cannons.

What are you...

Love it.

We cross at three points,
take these villages.

Expect light resistance
'cause we'll have the element of surprise,

and they're Swedish, so they'll have
all the spine of a filleted herring.

- Can we get a moment, Velementov?
- Sure.

Get your men ready.

We leave at dawn.

Okay, couple of things occurring to me.

I understand the herring crack is
just to rouse the men against the enemy.

Yeah, course it is.

Not really the enemy though,
are they?

Here's my problem:

- I don't think I can kill Swedes.
- Well, we can. We fucking love it.

I've told the men
they could take heads as souvenirs.

It's a morale booster.

That's actually
quite an upsetting statement.

Okay, a new plan
that answers this question:

How do we take the country
without killing anyone?

You want your country back,
you're gonna need to fucking take it.

I'm in charge of this, okay?
I'm a fucking king.

A king knows how to kill his own people.

- That's basics.
- Agnes often says I'm too nice.

Agnes.

Did you just segue into
thinking about fucking my wife

while we're talking about war
and bloodshed and existential crisis?

No segue. I'm always thinking about
fucking your wife.

She runs in the background
of my every thought.

- Good to know.
- We're going!

And I'm gonna die in a palace,

your wife astride me,

drinking your best fucking schnapps
till my lungs explode.

Or give me a day
to come up with a plan

or get to grips with
killing my own people.

Or we leave in the morning,
like we actually are,

and you grow some meatballs
by the morning.

Culturally insulting
and personally belittling.

Yeah, yeah.
Well, I'll see you tomorrow.

Or you give me some time
to come up with a plan!

I'll take your lack of consciousness
as agreement.

They should take a few hours
to melt through.

If it works, we'll hear a crack,
and we'll have a hole.

Are you actually
explaining my idea back to me?

I guess I am.

So strange to think of him underneath us.

My advice? Don't.

I'll be in the tent.

Fuck me.

Savagely would be ideal.

Ideally do things that make me
genuinely fear for my life.

It won't take the pain away.

It does, actually, for a short while.
I need a break from it.

- From what exactly?
- Is the chatting foreplay?

It's sweet but unnecessary.
Just fuck me.

Well, I'm always curious about
my sex partner's inner lives.

- It's a thing for me.
- You are a most infuriating person.

So many people say that to me,
and I'm still baffled as to why.

I have lost my nephew,
a son really,

and my first son I pulled
waterlogged and blue from a lake,

and now another.

Twice in a life is too much.

I want to banish all of it
and just have it all gone for a minute

as you fuck me savagely
and my body is wracked with pleasure.

I must confess,
I know about your son.

That was sad.

Offer rescinded.

Why do it to yourself again then?

I've seen a lot of bodies,
and I've come to realize something:

A dead body either means too little,

and you wonder on your humanity,

or too much,

and you wonder on your sanity.

When my son died,
I would lay in bed staring at the wall,

and every morning,
Peter would come in,

nine years old,

and would bring me
a fried quail sandwich I never ate.

He would say nothing,

just take my hand
and sit there until nightfall,

just be there with me.

And one day, he said to me,

"Would it make you feel better
if the sandwich had aioli?"

I laughed,
and the sound was so foreign to me,

I didn't believe
it had come from my body.

Saved me.

Definitely in a "too much" situation.

Definitely.

Hello.

It's you.

Of course now.

He is.

Take care of him on that side.

And I mean care and understanding.
He needed that.

Give it now.

You're right. I must.

You talking?

There was a wolf.

Are there chops?

Not this time.

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah.

Look, he had a few last night.

You know how he is,
a vodka balloon.

So, we are postponing,

as we've had some new intelligence
and a new plan is being devised.

You're all quite large men, aren't you?

Is that blood?
Looks like raspberry compote.

- Hugo, fucking let me go, you fuck!
- Just listen.

I had an idea last night,
like fate came to visit me.

I was looking up at the sky
and a star exploded,

and as I watched it,
an idea formed.

- I'll fucking kill you, you cunt.
- Hear me out and try not to interrupt.

This borderland,
Swedish vibe, Russian land,

uninhabited.

I could set up here,
my own kingdom.

No one dies, we start a nation
from scratch, and we call it...

Hugoland.

Okay, thoughts.

I'm gonna shoot you in your eyes,
ball bag and nostrils.

Okay, because you're a selfish man,

I understand I need to appeal
to that side of you.

Agnes comes,

we live in a strange triangle of bliss,

we build an amazing palace,

and you die a kind of number two king

in your own land
with Agnes astride you.

That's like being draped
in a vigorous vice of velvet, my friend.

And when you both come,

she just holds you in this look that says,

"One day, I'll kill while we do this."

It is a special feeling.

What do you say, other than thank you,
oj, and fucking huzzah?

You are...

an idiot.

What if I'm a genius?

I can take Sweden.
That's what I came to do.

Maybe you die in a hole
outside Stockholm

with a bayonet in your arsehole,
looking like a flesh popsicle.

A dead emperor is just a dead man.

Neither's worth freezing for.

I'm ready.

Great suit,

but you're not going in there.

You can't be the first person he sees.
He doesn't know you.

I...

can't really argue with that,

despite the myriad
of logical responses available.

Don't drown.

Annoying to explain.

Thank you.

After 30 seconds,
I'm pulling you back in.

Shit.

Jesus!

I found another hole over there.

Here.

- And I found him.
- Right.

He's very far down.
I think the horse is holding him down.

Well, maybe if I go down
on a weighted rope--

We're going to leave him there.

Right. Are you sure?

He looked rather peaceful,

like he was riding upside down
on a blue cloud,

and I want to remember him holding
my hand and eating ice cream

and throwing a dog off a roof.

- A dog?
- Yes.

Give me a minute.

Of course.

A beautiful place to land, my darling.

I will leave you now,
but know that I carry you always

and that I will sob until my ribs break,

and that will be right because I will
never take a full, unpained breath again.

But the joy you brought me...

more than enough.

Okay, I say from here to here,

access to the river and the sea.

She's never gonna go for it.

It'll be an example
of what she wants to do.

An experimental zone.
Wait, I can sell it.

- We dedicate it to Peter.
- Right.

Poor fucking kid.

Let's stay in the future, shall we?
It's nicer there.

You're never gonna get her to agree.

Got you and Peter
to steal her fucking army, didn't I?

Gentlemen.

The Empress of Russia
would like her army back.

- Jesus!
- Really?

There is some anger in grief.

Temper it, or I shoot you in the head.
My job is to bring them back alive.

- I will do my job.
- Understood.

Jesus!

You know what?
I'm gonna lie down for a minute.

Go ahead, shoot me.

Between the eyes ideally.
I'm not going back.

Get on your horse, General.
We're going home.

I'll do it myself then.

Please follow orders, General.

Show some honor,
or I'll be very, very disappointed in you.

Not to mention your discontented soul

following you for eternity
in the afterlife.

I mean, that'd be a bitch.

Sorry.

About Peter.

I'll never forgive myself.

You cared for him, sometimes when
he was impossibly cruel to you.

I remember once, I passed out drunk,
and when I woke up,

he'd covered my whole body
in pastry dough.

I was next to a blazing oven.

Never quite knew whether he was
about to put me in it or it was a jape.

He was unique.

Yeah. Huzzah to that.

Again. Play it again.

Hello.

Hello. Come to breakfast.
I got divorce through the Nakaz.

It is the talk of the court.

- Well, that and... of course.
- You can say the word. Peter.

It is actually reverberating
in my head constantly.

Peter. Peter.

Again.

Our song.
He hummed it to me once.

I will make music for us in my head,
and now...

- Catherine.
- Don't touch me.

We must move, keep moving,

or a flood of darkness comes
and it tries to drown me,

and I wish to let it, but cannot or...

Intense.

Come. I had them build our old breakfast
room next to the new apartment.

You what?

So many fierce battles of wit and clit
we had in there.

Musicians, follow.

So he's in front of me,
and I can see the animal in his eyes,

and it's a fight to the death.

Me or Pugachev,

man-to-man.

He launches, tries to swing with
the knife, but I kick it out of his hands.

I was wearing a block-heeled boot,
so it was easy.

Then, I raised my gun.
I have him.

"No, Maxim, please! I beg you,
stylish sir, have mercy, please!"

And I look down at him and I say,

"There is no mercy in Maxim's heart."

Maxim-esque.

You're a sweet and special kid.

A toast to the empress.

- She has freed women everywhere.
- And men.

There are chairs.

- I like something hard to sit on.
- God, you're an annoying whore.

Marial was waiting in the carriage, lookout.

She, too, is a hero.

We share it,
as any married couple share everything.

A day.

An entire day.

She kept his death from us
for a whole fucking day.

Deceptive bitch.

Would you like Paul brought to you?

Yes. No! No.

As children, Grigor and I invented
a language only we could understand.

We were completely mad.

Again, George. Say all that again.

When...
When we were young...

That's not how you started.

- When we were 14--
- We should go.

The divorce office opens,
and I am tired of sitting.

Bring your plates if you wish.

Again.

So loved this song.
Both of you, so I can listen.

Huzzah to the empress!

- Huzzah!
- They love you. You have freed them.

Thank you, Empress.

Releasing so many from unhappiness.

I mean, think of the bitches
people are tied to.

Ladies and gentlemen of the court,
it is a great day.

We now have freedom from our ties.

If one is unhappily married
in a violent coupling,

you now do not have to
bludgeon the other to death with a rock,

but to merely fill in a form in triplicate
and tie it with a ribbon,

and the bind is dissolved.

- Huzzah.
- Huzzah!

I miss my husband.

My shocked heart
seems to not want to beat.

But beat it shall, for you are my love,
my fate, my destiny and...

So, it's open, the office.

George, give one to Grigor for me,
will you?

Or do you want to retain your dignity
and do it yourself?

- He and I--
- "Had our language," blah, blah, blah...

I love the sky,

looking at it.

Always have.

You see things.

And I haven't looked at it in ages.

Just stopped, don't know why.

Look at that cloud
shaped like an antelope.

Catherine--

You can't look and talk
at the same time, George.

- So true. Fucking hell, George.
- Apologies.

- No, I'm sorry.
- It's fine.

I thought I'd feel something.

Divorce,

the love of the people,

real achievement.

It is.

It will change lives.

- Oh, shit.
- Good Lord.

I saw her husband
putting in divorce papers.

Shit!

- Get inside or you will be shot!
- But he's left me with nothing!

Now!

Hello. Just checking on the latest
body count from the divorce laws.

Archie!

God's laws work, and when they
are meddled with by man or woman,

unintended consequences erupt.

Not a good time.

There will be some casualties
to progress.

It's not just the death toll,
though, is it?

- What do you mean?
- There you are. Shall we walk?

Alone.

Empress,
welcome to the marriage market.

I know it is probably too soon for you,

but all these old men with
massive estates, it is a boon for us.

They are pathetic and grateful
and will die soon.

It is a win for the women of Russia.

- That is--
- Brilliant, I know.

You finally did something right.

There is the matter of estate,
of women left with nothing.

I'm not interested in that.

Right.

You meant well.
Your heart, as always, is good.

My heart is black and dead.

Of course.

Look at Raskolvy.

He divorced his wife this morning,
remarried in the afternoon,

divorced her just before dinner
and is now back for more.

God. A mess.

Unintended consequences.

Don't speak to me
of unintended consequences.

I know about unintended consequences.

"Because Sweden."

What?

I could've said anything else,
any other words.

Salt bath, otter spit, Irish stew,
hurt me, love me, kiss me,

forget all,

touch me, hit me, shoot me.

Love you with every sinew,
and one day,

it will hurt all over
to never touch you again...

to never...

to never feel our eyes meet
and inflame me,

to never hear an inane thought
that somehow made my blood sing,

"Don't go, don't leave me,
don't leave me."

More than two,
that last one, I know.

- I'm sorry.
- I could've said that.

- Go rest.
- Could've said that.

You're too weak with grief
to be managing something so incendiary.

You need to rescind
the divorce proclamation.

Go lie in a dark room, eat peaches.

- Wait for God to heal you.
- Peaches?

I ate 40 peaches a day for a month
when fat Mother died.

Had to get rid
of the acrid bitterness in my mouth.

It made me retch but would not go,
so I needed something sweet to salve it.

Forty peaches a day, though.

I had continuous diarrhea.

Sweetness in, bitterness out.

I believe I literally emptied out my grief
in a cavalcade of peach shit.

And it worked?

Still cry when I eat them,
but, yes, it worked.

Maybe unintended consequences
is just what life deals us,

and we must all just bear them.

- Empress--
- I need to lie down now.

Is she all right?

I'll just say this:

If we had divorce when you arrived,

you and Peter
would never have fallen in love.

You'd be back in Germany,
flower arranging,

blowing a man called Otto.

Leonora.

Take 40 peaches to everyone who has
been divorced. A gift from the empress.

And someone carry me to my room.

Fuck.

Leave me and my husband alone!

Guards, do something for me.

They say it's not opening.

The fuck it's not.

Again.

Out, sad circus. Go on, fuck off.

- Why have you shut the divorce office?
- It's a fucking disaster, that's why.

If they're not jumping out of windows,
they're beating each other up.

Teething problems.
Catherine, you can't stop now.

I can. I have.

People need this.

You mean you need this.

Yes, I do.

And you said yourself
you have to keep going,

or you'll drown
in this pointless fucking sadness.

Just go. I'm so tired.

Divorce, Catherine. Choice.

Fucking choice, which, trust me,

has been a foreign concept up until
this moment for many, including me.

I just can't see a way through,

and what's strange,

I don't even care.

I tried to before.

Spent several minutes
trying to dredge it up

from the tiny, laughable bucket
I call my fucking destiny.

I need you to stick this through.

I'm just going to hum the song
if the musicians have left.

Catherine.

Look, I get that you are sad,

and you feel like your heart has been
kneaded to a pulp,

but you can finally do
what you came to fucking do,

what I helped you for.

And I'm sorry that the one thing
I could not do for you

is open your eyes to the psychotic,
selfish, fucking brutal child

who took a knife to your reign
and called it love.

He locked you in a trunk
and he shot your bear,

and he set fire to a girls' school
and he fucked your...

Get the fuck out now!

I just couldn't listen to her
talk about him.

Sorry.

- I'm going to leave.
- No, could you stay?

- Stay?
- And talk.

I don't care what about. Anything.

- The walls are nice in here.
- Louder.

I like this wallpaper. It's...

I have a dress in a similar color.

If I concentrate,
it's like he's just outside the door.

Like I can hear his footsteps coming.

If I shut my eyes, it's like I'm waiting
for him, buzzing like a fly in a glass.

And then he bursts in and says
he wants to fuck me now,

like he has always fucked me,

and kiss me so hard
that he draws blood.

That he wants to pull my dress up

and my stockings down so fast
that they rip.

Hear the crack of my head on the wall
as he pushes inside me.

And I say yes, because I always say yes.
I've always said yes.

Even when it isn't good,

and it wasn't always that good, especially
when he'd had stuffed pheasant.

But he hasn't had
stuffed pheasant tonight,

so we start fucking against that wall.

My cheeks get pink,
and his breath gets shallow,

and he gets faster,

does that face he does
that tells me the end is coming.

He smells of salt.
Always smelt of salt.

I bite his shoulder and taste the ocean.

And then he lets out a moan,
and I do, too, and it is done.

And we don't speak.

And it feels like we built a city
and burnt it down in about four minutes.

Then he leaves.

Sorry, I don't know why I just... I...

Fuck, sorry.

It was interesting.

Right.

- It's unbearable, isn't it?
- You need to rest.

You were right to end the divorce fiasco.

- Valiant, but you're not in a--
- You want Grigor.

And you will have him trapped
to keep him.

And I want Peter,

and he is dead
at the bottom of a lake.

And I am dead
but still able to speak,

which is confusing.

I'll go.

You seem angry.

Not at all. I love you.

I took him from you.

I know that. It hurt you.

So don't give her the chance
to take Grigor from me.

I will do what's best for Russia.

How do you know?

- Destiny.
- Amazing!

You are just a person, though.

If you have it, you know.

And when it all goes wrong,
that does not shake you?

- No.
- I would fear it was delusion.

Like when you are in love with someone
and think they are with you,

but you are nothing to them
but old cheese on their shoe.

It could be, I suppose.

Maybe that is why shooting myself in the
head is looming as an attractive option.

Rest.

There is none to be had.

Did you want Paul now?

No.

Lay him down.

Open it.

Empress...

Catherine the Great,
a hands-on ruler. Form.

- Why?
- What?

I have the what.
I wish to know the why.

Why do you want to get divorced?
You must show cause.

That wasn't on the form.

I'm constantly evolving
and improving things. It is my way.

Huzzah. Why? Go.

Her breath smells like a dead deer's.

When she chews, I want to choke her,
and I get sleepy when we fuck.

No, refused.

Face side on when you eat together.

Fuck in the morning.
Think of others when you do. Next!

- He hits me.
- Approved.

But if I leave, I have nothing.

You will have half his worth.
All women will get half of the estate.

Shoot them if need be.

- I'm free?
- Of him, yes.

Of life and the possibility
of more rib-sticking pain and suffering

than you could ever imagine?

No.

I married and fucked Nadia,
which is all I wanted really,

and now I want to move on,
so... that's me.

Happy to do so.
Half his estate, you said?

Sorry, what?

Raskolvy.

My new wife. Just need this stamped
to lose the old one.

New rule:

You must be 15 to be wed.

Barbaric.

Is that all?

Seems so.

There is something I haven't done.

I need to do it.

I know you've probably heard,

and I want you to know,
I will kill him, I promise.

- What?
- Pugachev. I guess I winged him.

Apparently,
he's rallied thousands near Moscow.

- He's not dead?
- He will be. I don't miss twice.

I take my leave.
Bloodshed is now my business.

Paul, I have to tell you something,

and after I tell you,
you will not be the same.

So let's just take a moment
where you are.

Okay.

I'll whisper it.

No, too bitter.

This one, try this one.
Much better crunch. Crisp. Go on.

- Better. Not too tart.
- Swig?

Why have you brought
this little foppish fuck with us?

Men have to learn to hunt.
He needs us.

Hey, look. Deer.

- Fucking hell, good shot. What's that?
- Three!

Good. Now maybe Maxim could go back
to the palace and we could carry on?

Great accessory, a gun.
Maybe I'll hold one in my next portrait.

Totally agree. You look great with a gun.
Very Maxim-esque.

Or I could fucking leave.

Four!

Sorry, Arkady.

It's not my fault you're not quick enough.

- You're acting like a lobcock.
- No, you are! Isn't he, Maxim?

Unsure yet. Maybe fight
to make it clear to me who's right.

- Rhyming! Good! And yes.
- We shouldn't fight.

You know what we should do? Cry.

We should cry and hold each other

and laugh about things that happened
when we were young,

because our friend...

is dead!

And I just want to stand
in the forest with you and miss him!

Fight, fight, fight, fight!

- Yeah, let's fight.
- Grigor, don't--

Fight, fight, fight, fight, Arkady!
Come on, punch me in the face.

I'm not fucking punching...

All right, I am!

Enough! Enough!

No one won. You should keep going
until someone's unconscious.

- What the fuck?
- He's right.

- He's a child!
- With an old soul.

Hear that? Old soul. Fun soul!

I'm going back to the palace.

Thirteen!

- Grigor, can we talk man-to-man?
- Yeah, of course.

Divorce.
You and Georgina, are you doing it?

I'd appreciate
if you'd be straight with me,

if you were thinking of unhooking yourself
from your mare to bridle up my filly.

I'm just here to shoot deer and drink.

I really haven't thought about it.
Here, have another swig.

- You know, I might just go back.
- No, no.

Stay. Stay and shoot.
Come on, Maxim.

I tend to have a nap around now.

Bye.

Come on.

Come on.

- Who'd you kill?
- Didn't get names.

- Always best.
- Where's George?

Catherine, I guess.

Do you think I could assuage her grief
by throwing myself at her?

And if I kind of forced her,

would she regret it,
or be kind of mad, kind of grateful?

- Fuck off, Petra, or I'll shoot you.
- Sorry.

Are you gonna get divorced or what? It'd
be good for me to have a plan ready.

I don't know.

People are betting on what you'll do,
who you'll choose.

My friend just died, so I can't have you
fucking talking at my ears like this!

Understood.

If you need anything, let me know.

Is this room smaller?

- Than?
- Before. It feels smaller.

If you're not yelling, you're staring.
You're on thin ice, Petra!

I...

I was looking for you.

You all right?

Well, I won the fight, Arkady,
so it's more, are you all right?

Here's your gun. You dropped it.

Are you all right?

Are you really asking that?

Not really.
Of course you're not.

Marial wants me to marry her
and divorce George.

I know. They're laying bets.

- Who did you bet on?
- Neither.

It's a new life with Marial.

With George,
it's us with a piece missing.

I can't look at her
without thinking of him.

I actually can't look at cheese
without thinking of him.

- Or ham.
- Figs.

- Pussy.
- Bleeding torsos begging for mercy.

Where they going?

I guess they're going to
an orgy in the church.

- You up for it?
- Probably just watch.

Sex and grief.

Fuck the pain away.
Let's go.

Can't look fucking sad anymore.

I took cake to Tatyana today and had
to literally bite my tongue to blood

to stop myself from laughing
at her black dress.

- To his fucking death! Huzzah.
- Huzzah.

Huzzah!

Oh, shit. Grigor.

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

Celebrating, is it?
My friend's death!

Raising a glass to a dead man
who loved me? Loved you all, in his way.

Yes, mercurial and mad
and fucking unique!

You didn't know him.
You just think you did!

You didn't see his eyes tear up
when he looked at the forest at dawn

or when he sucked down
on a pigeon pie

or fire up to violence
when a friend was wronged.

Fuck you all for your blindness to him,
your lack of love!

He was a man who felt everything,
not with the hurdles and fences

and cul-de-sacs
that we stop ourselves with.

If he was fury, he was nothing but fury,
nothing but joy, nothing but killing.

He knew life whole,

not by measly portion.

He loved me that way.

He was the rarest of men.

He was all fucking in on life!

You will never see his like again.

For my life ended, too,
in that freezing water.

I loved him,

more than I have ever loved anyone
or ever will.

What the fuck are you talking about?

I'm right here.

You love me!

Of course you're here.

He was a monster.
A fucking monster!

Go to bed, everyone,
or we'll kill you all.

Grigor!

Grigor!

Grigor.

- Please.
- Do not fucking touch me!

You have a chance at a new life. You
love me, and I know you fucking hurt.

- And you don't.
- No!

I don't because he made me a servant
and he ruined my family,

and he fucked me once at an orgy
and he called me Miriam as he came,

and he killed people I loved.

- We can't be together.
- He doesn't ruin this for me! Enough!

We love each other.
We can be happy.

You want a new life, or you're just gonna
live in fucking pain now?

Or lie around with George,

reminiscing about the good old days
when he fucked her in front of you.

- You loved him. He didn't love you.
- He did.

It's not fucking love, Grigor,
to cause you pain like that.

- Go away, Marial.
- Because I scored a telling point?

It should be, "Come here, Marial,
for making me see sense."

Go.

I'm not giving up.

He doesn't win!

Thing is, Paul,

nothing really matters now.

And I can pretend it does,
but it doesn't.

How he loved you.

And how they will now try to destroy me...

and you with me.

Hi.

I was just thinking about you.

Hi.

Can I sleep here?

Hello, Paul.

Does he know?

We were just discussing it.

Grigor, you have to do something for me,

for Peter.

Anything.

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