Original subtitles

- Mummy! Mummy! - Up here.

Mummy!

Mummy!

We can't find Bella!

- Oh, where have you looked? - We've been everywhere.

We've been in the gardens and behind the hall.

- We've been to the lake. - Have you asked Mr Brent?

- He won't help us. - He doesn't like Bella.

Why don't you try Dingle Dell? She often goes there.

Yes!

Bella!

Bella!

- Bella! - Bella!

- Bella! - Bella!

Bella!

Bella!

Here, girl!

Bella! Here, girl!

There she is.

Oh, no.

How did you find me, Mr Pund?

Oh, it was the Reverend Osborne in Saxby-on-Avon.

- He gave me your address. - Oh.

You're investigating Mary's death?

No, Mr Blakiston.

I am investigating the murder of her employer, Sir Magnus Pye.

Well, you're wasting your time. I can't help you.

I'm not even sure that I'd want to.

You are no friend of Sir Magnus?

He took everything I ever loved.

When he offered Mary the job at Pye Hall,

he sucked her into his orbit.

She worshipped him.

He was an aristocrat, local squire.

She trusted him with everything.

And suddenly there was no more room for me.

- When did you last see her? - Ten years ago.

Oh, but still, you went to her funeral.

Of course I did. I loved her.

Before the accident, before Sam died,

we'd been happy together.

She weren't an easy woman, I'll grant you that,

but when we first got married, setting up our first home...

oh, those were wonderful days.

And then you lost your son.

I was away with the RAF at the time.

Mary blamed me for that.

Maybe she was right.

Although I'm not sure what I could've done.

Who do you blame?

I suppose I could blame Sir Magnus.

He was the one who set up those treasure hunts.

He hid the coin that could have drawn my boy into the water.

And I suppose that might have given me a reason to kill him,

if that's what you're thinking.

Although you might wonder why I waited twelve years.

- And what of Brent? - The groundsman? Huh!

He was close by. He could've kept an eye out.

He was the one who found Sam.

Although by then, it was far too late.

I suppose he did what he could.

Robert saw them just as they was coming out,

and he charged into the water, too.

Sam!

Sam!

Sam!

I'm not sure Robert ever recovered

from what he saw that day.

- In what way? - His relationship with Mary.

Turning his back on me.

You have my sympathies, Mr Blakiston,

but still, I have to ask,

is that the reason you chose not to speak to your own son

- at his mother's funeral? - What good would it have done?

I've been out of his life for far too long now.

And anyway, the two of us was never that close.

He was always a very quiet boy.

Kept himself to himself.

To be honest, I was closer to Sam.

Did the two of them get on?

Well, they fought like all young boys.

There were jealousies.

But I'd say yes.

And what of Robert and his mother?

Everything changed after the accident.

To lose a child is so terrible.

I suppose she became over-protective

with the one that was left.

Suddenly she was all over him.

Never let him out of her sight.

Thank you, Mr Blakiston.

Oh, um, what can you tell me about Bella?

The dog?

Somebody poisoned her.

It was quite deliberate. Rat poison.

We always assumed it was Brent. He hated the dog.

He was always complaining about it.

Sam was devastated.

Why Sam in particular?

Well, it was his dog.

I bought her for him for his ninth birthday.

If you ask me, everything about Pye Hall is cursed.

The dog killed. The little boy drowned.

Mary Blakiston. Sir Magnus.

If you want the truth,

I don't want to spend another minute there.

You may have your wish, James.

We need to meet with Detective Inspector Chubb,

but after that, we will be returning at once to London.

Don't tell me.

You know who did it!

Matthew Blakiston provided the last piece of the jigsaw.

Well then, do tell me! I want to know.

We have a long drive.

"We have a long drive. I will explain it all."

It's so infuriating because he never did.

So you're no closer?

No.

I'm sorry, Charles, it's all gone.

All the notes. Everything.

And Claire Jenkins had a copy, but she destroyed it.

And that's the closest I got.

Well, full marks for trying.

- Hmm! - There's, uh...

something I need to tell you, Susan.

I've approached Peter Kinsale of Harper Collins

for the position of CEO.

Ah.

Cityworld couldn't wait any longer.

They've asked me to explore the field.

You know how much I want you to take the job.

I couldn't leave the company in better hands,

but I can't risk the investors walking away.

What did Peter say?

He had some interesting ideas.

He suggested Sophie Hannah be brought in

to finish "Magpie Murders".

Oh, you told him about the book.

Oh, I had to. Without "Magpie Murders" there's no deal.

Yeah. Sophie's a good idea.

She did a great job with "Poirot".

That's what I thought.

Does she know who did it?

She's reading it now.

Ah, so this... sounds like a done deal.

Nothing's been agreed. There's still time.

No, uh...

I think you've made the right decision.

I think we both have.

We have worked together... how many years?

Oh!

Too many.

How long will it all take?

We'll need to make an announcement soon.

Hmm!

She wants to use my title, by the way.

- I'm sorry? - Sophie.

She likes "The Magpie Murders".

Not "Magpie Murders".

I suppose we'll never know why Alan got so upset.

Not "The Magpie Murders". "Magpie Murders".

That's the bloody title.

"Cat up nudist". One word.

It's an anagram of Atticus Pund.

Alan loved anagrams.

Darnley.

It's an anagram of Ryeland. It's us!

An...

Anagram.

An anagram.

I'm off, Susan. Is that OK?

- Yeah. - I've got my check-up at five.

- Oh, yes. Hope it goes OK. - Oh, thanks.

Oh, by the way, Jemima said hello.

Jemima? Have you seen her?

I bumped into her at the station a couple of nights ago.

- We're gonna meet next week. - Ah.

Alice, Alice!

Have you got a number for her?

- Hey, Chris. - Hey.

- Can you do me a favour? - Sure. What is it?

My friend was sent an email,

but we don't know where it came from.

Mm-hm.

I forwarded it to myself, but I need to know the source.

Well, that's easy. Just look at the metadata.

I don't know what that means.

I'll do it.

OK, so that's your original IP.

Put it into MX Toolbox. Reverse Lookup.

And... there!

It originated from Clover Books.

What?

Hmm. Nice shot.

It's good of you to come out, Jemima. Thank you.

It's nice to see you, Susan.

Oh! You OK?

Yeah. Huh!

I'm starting at Channel Four. PA.

Oh, that's great.

So, I just wanted to talk to you

about the manuscript for "Magpie Murders".

I know. Charles already emailed me.

But I promise you, it wasn't my fault.

Oh, no. I'm not blaming you.

I photocopied everything Charles gave me.

I can't remember how many pages it was now.

- It was over three hundred. - Yeah.

I did a page count. I always did.

And you didn't leave it in the machine room?

No, I gave both copies to Charles.

You had just left for Frankfurt, so he said he'd look after it.

- And you didn't read it? - Only the page numbers.

Oh, no, wait a minute.

You just said that I'd already left for Frankfurt.

Yeah. Wednesday morning.

No. No, that's not possible

because, well, Alan only gave Charles the manuscript

on Thursday night when they had dinner.

No, it came in the post on Wednesday.

I photocopied it straight away, and Charles had it before lunch.

- Are you sure? - Yeah.

- "Magpie Murders"? - Of course I'm sure.

It was our biggest book.

Charles told me not to tell anyone.

He wanted to surprise you.

Why did you leave so suddenly?

Cos Charles asked me to.

He told me that you were the one who wanted to leave.

That's not true.

I told him I was looking around,

that I really wanted to work in TV,

but when I came in on Friday morning,

he just said it would be better for both of us

if I left at once.

He paid me a month's wages.

That's it.

What?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Susan? What are you doing?

I thought everyone had gone.

I left something, so I...

Ah!

I see you found it.

Yes. The missing chapter.

You had it all along.

I can explain if you'll let me.

I think you should.

Would you like a whisky?

Uh! Just a small one.

Very good.

You must understand everything I've done is for the company.

I had to protect us.

See...

Oh, God.

It's not easy to explain!

Well then, why don't you let me?

Why don't we start last Wednesday

when I was in Frankfurt?

That was when the manuscript actually arrived.

It was sent to you in the post.

You read it before your dinner with Alan on Thursday night.

That's right.

You sent Jemima away. You told her to leave

because you didn't want her to tell me

that you'd already read it.

- She was leaving anyway. - Well...

The dinner with Alan was... was horrible.

He was drunk.

Drunk and threatening. You have no idea...

I'm fed up with it all!

I'm fed up with Atticus fucking Pund.

You don't know how long I've been waiting to do him in!

Alan, please.

That same evening he wrote you a letter,

effectively apologising for his behaviour.

The letter was handwritten.

Yes, it was.

But an apology wasn't enough, was it?

On Saturday evening, you drove up to Abbey Grange.

Uh...

Incidentally, you gave yourself away about that.

I should have spotted it.

I'm sorry, what do you mean?

Well, when we drove up for the funeral, you were very helpful.

Don't worry, Charles. We will get there.

Find the pages. Save the company.

Turn right here. You want to avoid the road works.

You knew about the road works

well before we got to them.

But a few days earlier, I'd asked you a question.

That house of his, Abbey Grange -

when was the last time you saw it?

Oh, I haven't been in Suffolk for five or six months.

He changed the name. Did you know that?

Five or six months.

You were doing everything you could

to distance yourself from the scene of the crime.

But you were lying

because you knew about the roadworks.

I should've guessed.

Are you accusing me of Alan's murder?

That's... That's ridiculous.

Nobody needed him alive more than me.

Apart from anything else, I needed that last chapter.

Well, we'll get to that in a minute

if that's all right with you.

So, once you arrived, you...

you parked your car out of sight.

As it happens, Andreas had got there ahead of you,

and he was with Alan.

And that was when you took the photo.

You sent it to me

because you didn't want me to investigate.

You thought I'd give up

if I believed Andreas was involved.

We've known each other for so many years, Charles.

How could you be so cruel?

I was afraid for you, Susan. I'll admit that.

Going up there,

blundering in with no idea what was at stake.

OK. Well then, let's...

Let's talk about the stakes, shall we?

The sale to Cityworld Media.

Your beloved publishing company.

All those shares,

the millions of pounds you were going to be paid.

And he was going to destroy it all.

Yes!

Because he hated writing murder mysteries.

He hated Atticus Pund.

He thought he was better than that.

Alan Conway wanted to be Salman Rushdie or Hilary Mantel.

It's extraordinary, really,

because the more successful he was,

the more miserable he became.

He was ludicrous.

But then he was diagnosed with a terminal disease,

and that changed everything.

He didn't need money anymore.

Fame wasn't going to help, and actually it disgusted him.

But he'd always have this idea that one day...

he'd destroy Atticus Pund.

Give him his own version of the Reichenbach Falls,

and one that the literary world would never forget.

In fact...

it was built into the books.

"Atticus Pund Investigates",

"No Rest for the Wicked",

"Atticus Pund Takes the Case"...

The first letters spell out...

an anagram.

Of course, it only works

if the last book's called "Magpie Murders",

and not "The Magpie Murders".

Yes. Alan did tell me that.

But an anagram of what?

You know, I only worked it out on the way here.

Go on.

Do I need to?

You already know it.

It's what he told you when he got drunk over dinner

in that fancy restaurant.

What Alan wanted was to destroy the books,

to make them valueless,

because that's what he always thought they were.

And this was his torpedo.

The actual name of his detective.

- Atticus Pund. - Mm.

He knew what he was doing from the very beginning.

Oh, yeah. He'd already jumbled up the letters

to make "Cat Up Nudist."

But there was a second...

much worse anagram.

- Wasn't there? - Do tell.

Three words.

The first is "A".

The second is...

"Stupid".

And that leaves a four letter word.

And one of the worst...

one of the most offensive in the English language.

If people had found out,

if people had realised that this was "Atticus Pund",

well, it wasn't just the last book that was at stake,

it was the entire series,

and you could forget about any deal with Cityworld Media,

and you would have lost millions.

And that, Charles...

is why you had to kill him.

Ah.

You're not going to deny it?

I tried to dissuade him.

We went up to the tower.

You mean, you persuaded him to take you.

Well, he liked to show off the view.

But Alan, for God's sake,

your books have brought pleasure to millions of people.

- Not to me. - Oh, God, I...

I can't believe that you've been planning this all along.

- I mean, it's crazy! - Actually, it kept me sane.

It reminded me of the rubbish it actually was.

But you'll destroy my company, my staff, my other authors.

What makes you think I give a damn?

Oh, you go to hell, Alan.

Go to hell!

Argh!

Ooh.

- Do you mind if I have another? - No. Go ahead.

You?

No, I'm all right.

But killing him wasn't enough, was it?

You needed a cover story.

You'd read the book.

You'd seen something in the final chapter

that you could use.

But you had to make sure no one else ever read it.

So, you cleared out Alan's office,

taking all his notes and earlier drafts,

but also, the real prize -

a handwritten draft of the final chapter.

The book finishes with a suicide letter.

Not from Alan Conway. From Atticus Pund.

That's how the book ends.

He has a degenerative disease,

so he decides to take his own life.

"By the time you read this, it will all be finished.

"I have achieved great success

"in a life that has gone on long enough.

"I have left you some notes with regard...

"...to my condition and the decision I have made."

- Does that even sound like him? - Alan clearly wasn't himself.

I'm an editor, I really should have trusted my instincts.

"With regard to my condition."

It's a little...

stilted.

Old-fashioned.

That wasn't Alan's voice.

It was Pund's.

It's Atticus Pund

writing about the fact that he has very little time left.

He's dying.

And that's what you needed.

I found this.

It's from Alan.

It's his suicide note.

The first half of the letter was the apology,

the second half was taken from the book.

Together, they told exactly the story you wanted.

Remorse... and then resignation.

There's just one small detail you hoped nobody would notice.

- But you of course did. - Yes.

The letter was handwritten,

but you had to find an old envelope.

And the envelope was typed.

Meaning the whole thing had been faked.

Exactly.

Well...

you seem to have put it all together, Susan,

and I must congratulate you.

But it does beg one question, doesn't it?

What happens now?

- What do you mean? - Are you going to turn me in?

No! I don't need to be involved.

I think it would be much better all round

if you called the police yourself.

You realise they'll send me to prison. I'll get life.

I won't come out.

Yes, Charles, that's what happens when you commit murder.

I thought you might make some allowances.

As you yourself said,

we've known each other for a long time.

It seems I didn't know you at all.

Would you allow me at least

to spend the evening at home with my family?

Before I make the call?

If you don't call them tomorrow, then I will.

But yes, you need to explain everything to Elaine.

Elaine.

Yes.

Ah, I'm going to miss all this.

I'm sorry.

Are you? You seem more self-righteous to me.

You can think what you like. I'm leaving.

Good night, Susan.

Ah!

Ah!

Why did you have to be so bloody obstinate?

I didn't want you looking for the missing pages.

I don't care about the missing book.

Jesus Christ.

All I was doing was protecting myself,

- and my family and my future. - Charles!

That's what I'm doing now. You made me!

Charles, no!

Charles...

Charles, what are you doing?

Please, Charles... Uh!

Oh, Charles...

I'm sorry, Susan. I really am.

Charles. Charles!

Please!

I gave you a chance.

You should have taken it!

Oh!

Susan!

Susan!

- Susan! - Andreas.

It... It was Charles.

It was Charles.

That's all right. Come on.

You're awake.

Thank God.

Katie.

Andreas called and told me what happened.

I came down at once.

Where is Andreas?

He won't be long.

Are you all right, Sue? Do you want me to call the doctor?

No.

Where's Charles?

He was arrested.

Andreas saw him coming out of the building.

He killed Alan.

It's unbelievable.

- Am I... Oh! - No, you're all right.

The doctors have looked at you.

You're gonna be fine.

How are you, Katie?

How's Dad?

Let's not talk about that now.

No, no. I want to know.

Dad's gone.

I didn't want to tell you.

No, it's... better that you did.

Sorry.

You don't have to say that.

I should never have got involved in all of this.

You told me not to.

Here...

Mm... It's the smoke. It...

It's done something to my lungs.

- The doctor said... - I know. I know. They told me.

Mm.

- Thank you. - You're welcome.

Thank you.

Why were you there... Andreas, at the office?

I was looking for you, of course. Why else?

I found out that the photograph you were sent

came from Clover Books, and I was worried.

What I said to you...

Will you ever forgive me?

I already have.

How could I have possibly believed

- even for a minute...? - It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

- It's all behind us now. - Hmm.

I want to talk about Crete.

I just wish it wasn't Alan's money in the hotel, but...

I'm not going.

Oh, yes, you are.

And I'm going with you.

- You're not feeling well. - Ah...

- You're hallucinating. - I am not.

Yes.

OK. We'll talk about it when you're better, hmm?

Ah!

I was wondering when you were going to show up.

- How are you feeling? - Awful.

I mucked everything up.

I accused Andreas, and I nearly got myself killed.

You're being too hard on yourself.

You solved the crime.

The killer has been apprehended.

I would say you have done remarkably well.

Hmm!

I'll take that as a compliment, coming from you.

The missing chapter?

Yes.

You have read it?

Not yet.

I've read the last pages with the letter,

but not the solution.

I'm not sure I'm quite up to it.

"Magpie Murders".

You solved them?

The detective will always solve the crime

as sure as day will follow the night.

In the world in which I exist, this is an immutable fact.

Ah, yes.

The certainty.

That's why people love you.

You wish to know the answer?

Are you kidding?

That's all I want to know.

Then come with me.

Now?

You are too busy?

Where are we going?

To the Queen's Arms Public House.

And who are we meeting?

It was Joy Sanderling who first came to me for help,

and it is she who must hear what I have to say.

My friends are waiting.

Detective Inspector. James.

Are we ready?

We are indeed.

You asked me to come to Saxby-on-Avon

on account of one death, Miss Sanderling.

That was the death of Mary Blakiston

just one day after her son, Robert,

had been overheard threatening her.

- I didn't threaten her. - Huh.

But that is how it was construed.

- I never touched her. - I know that.

I know exactly how your mother died.

It was an accident.

That's not what you told me, Pund.

You said Lady Frances killed her.

Oh, she did.

Inadvertently.

You will recall

that she told us that she telephoned Mrs Blakiston

on the very day of her death.

It was, I believe, the telephone call that was responsible,

uh, for she also told us something else.

This is Atticus Pund. He's a well-known investigator.

Would you take that, darling?

The telephones don't work upstairs.

Nothing works in this house.

It's just one thing after another.

We know that Mary Blakiston was vacuuming

at the top of the stairs.

Let us imagine that the telephone rings.

I rang her the morning she died,

and when she didn't answer,

I thought there must be something wrong.

She cannot answer it in the bedroom.

She has to hurry downstairs,

and in her haste, her foot becomes entangled in the wire.

Ooh! Oh! Oh!

So, Robert had nothing to do with it.

Exactly.

I knew it.

What about the death of Sir Magnus?

That is indeed the question.

The answer is that the two deaths were inextricably linked.

One led directly to the other.

But there is a third death also that we must consider,

a death that took place twelve years ago.

Sam?

Yes.

That is where this story begins.

A lodge house. A room with a view.

The collar of a dog that has been killed.

Two brothers.

He was always a very quiet boy.

Kept himself to himself.

To be honest, I was closer to Sam.

Did the two of them get on?

Well, they fought like all young boys.

There were jealousies.

But I'd say yes.

- I spoke to your father. - When?

This morning.

He gave me an image of two brothers

who were jealous of one another and sometimes came to blows.

The young one was given a dog, Bella.

Bella! Here, girl!

Last one to the lake is a rotten egg.

Keep up, Bella!

A terrible thing happened to this dog.

She was poisoned, it seems deliberately.

That was Brent.

Why, then, did your mother keep the collar

in a drawer in the room in which she worked all those years?

What was it that she wished to be reminded of?

I don't understand why you're asking this.

I'm trying only to understand the character of your mother,

for there was something else that was told me by your father.

Everything changed after the accident.

Suddenly she was all over him.

Never let him out of her sight.

What was it that changed?

Why? Before, it would seem

that your mother was not close to you, Robert.

But afterwards, you became almost her prisoner.

- I was! - Your father assumed

that it was because she was afraid to lose you.

But could it be...

that she knew what you had done,

and she was afraid that you might do it again?

What are you talking about?

I'm talking about the fact that as a child,

Robert Blakiston was disturbed to the extent

that he killed a dog that had been given to his brother

and later, in a fit of jealousy or anger,

he drowned that brother in the lake at Pye Hall,

an act seen by his mother

from the window in the room in which she worked,

the one room in the house that had a view of the water.

No. That's wrong.

- That's ridiculous. - You believe so?

Then I will ask you two questions.

Why was there a need for Robert to throw himself into the water

when Brent, carrying his brother,

had almost reached dry land?

Well, I was fourteen years old.

I didn't know what I was doing.

I think you knew exactly what you were doing.

You were disguising the fact

that you were already soaking wet.

And my second question.

Why was Mr Blakiston so opposed to the idea

- of you marrying her son? - I told you.

You told me, Miss Sanderling,

what you believed to be the case,

but perhaps you were mistaken.

- No. - I'm sorry?

You are not gonna marry my son.

Mum!

I'm thinking about future generations.

Can't be tainted.

I won't have it.

You're not being serious.

- You can't think that. - I won't even discuss it.

Now, I'm warning you, Robert.

This marriage will not go ahead.

"So future generations cannot be tainted."

You believed that Mrs Blakiston was referring to you

in a way that was truly reprehensible.

But suppose her words were in fact

addressed to her son, Robert?

Suppose that she was afraid

that he might poison you and your future family

with the same madness that had led him to kill his own brother?

No, this is all just words.

You're just making stuff up! You can't prove a word of it!

When there is only one explanation that makes sense,

then that is all the proof that you require.

- No, I've had enough of this. - Oh! No, no, you're staying.

- Go on, Mr Pund. - Yes, go on.

Let us now enter the mind of Mary Blakiston.

She has a son whom she knows to be dangerous.

She watches him, never lets him out of her sight,

but... she also fears for her own safety.

What will she do should he ever turn on her?

What can she do to protect herself?

She writes a letter.

She writes a letter, explaining how Sam was killed.

Also, what happened to Bella.

She reveals that her older son is dangerously disturbed,

and she gives it to the one man she trusts,

indeed, whom she reveres.

Sir Magnus Pye.

It is a letter to be kept secure

only to be opened should anything untoward happen to her.

She tells her son what she has done,

and now she has no need to fear him.

Sir Magnus places it in the safe, and there it remains...

Until her death.

...until the accident occurs.

Mary Blakiston dies

just one day after her son has threatened her.

And it is at her funeral, Robert realises he's in danger.

You remember, James, what the reverend Osborne told us.

He said that Robert became very upset.

No, no, no, no. It was more than that.

So, although we are here today to mourn her departure,

we must also remember what she left behind...

No... No!

"We must also remember what she left behind."

What she had left behind was a letter

which identified Robert as the killer of his brother

all those years before.

It would have destroyed his life in the village.

It would have ended, Miss Sanderling,

his relationship with you.

- So, he tried to steal it. - Exactly.

He broke into Pye Hall the same night

in an attempt to find the letter

before Sir Magnus returned from his holiday.

But he couldn't open the safe.

That's why he faked the burglary!

He stole the silver, he got rid of it in the lake,

dropping the two pieces that Brent later found.

Then, Sir Magnus came home.

Robert arranged to meet him,

and we can imagine what occurred.

But she was wrong, sir. You've got to believe me.

But you threatened her.

Half the village heard it.

And the very next day...

That wasn't me!

You wanted her dead. You said so.

And everyone heard you.

I have to say, Robert, I am sickened.

I think you ought to leave.

I believed in you, tried to help you.

After that, there was but one thing to do.

He returned to the study,

burned the incriminating letter,

at the same time transferring

some of Sir Magnus's blood onto the page.

But in his haste, he made an error.

On the desk, I saw it at once.

A typed letter

in a handwritten envelope.

He burned the letter that his mother had handwritten,

but he also burned the typed envelope

containing the threatening letter

that Clarissa Pye had delivered,

leaving behind the envelope

with the handwriting I later recognised as Mary Blakiston's.

Does this not tell you a great deal

about the murder of Sir Magnus?

It's not what is written. It is how it is written.

That is where the solution can be found.

The same handwriting.

It told me almost everything I needed to know.

Is this true, Robert?

It is, isn't it?

Oh, my God.

I did it for you.

For us.

What else could I do? I love you.

I just wanted to be with you.

Better come with me.

I have to say, you were on top form back there.

Ah, you're too kind.

No. Seriously.

It'll make for a bestseller. I'm sure of it.

Is that what matters to you?

Not so much anymore.

I'm leaving publishing.

- I'm going to Crete. - Oh.

I think you'll be happy there.

I hope so.

Do you know what happens to you at the end of the book?

I knew it from the start.

I'm sorry.

Oh, there's no need to be. There are eight books.

Nine now.

I'll not be forgotten. At least for a time.

No, I mean, I'm sorry because...

Well, I suppose it means I won't see you again.

We have separate paths to follow, Miss Ryeland.

I've asked you not to call me that.

It's been a pleasure.

For me, too.

Goodbye, Atticus.

Goodbye, Susan.