Original subtitles

We welcome you, ladies and gentlemen, to an exhibit of art...

A collection of oils and still life's that share one thing in common.

You won't find them in the average salon or exhibition hall or art museum.

Painting number one. Its title: The Dead Man.

An interesting meeting between flesh and bone...

between that which walks and that which...

You should excuse the expression... Gets buried.

So we submit for your approval this and other

frozen moments of nightmare placed on canvas.

Yes? Who is it? What is it?

I am precisely on time, according to your invitation,

which ought to give you some idea as to who or what I may be.

Dr. Talmadge. Short of time, temper and patience as usual. Come in. Come in.

Miles! Good to see you.

It's been too long.

Oh, for me too.

Well, how long can you give us this time? And don't be stingy.

Well, I have till 5:00 a.m. on Monday.

And if you insist, I just happen to have a second suitcase in my car.

Put that one down there.

They'll both reappear in your room as if by magic. Come on up.

Something's missing. Now, what is it?

Your patients! I haven't seen a single one. They're gone.

Gone? All of them? All but one.

That's him? Your prize patient?

- He seems to be a healthy specimen. - You think so?

Well, at first glance.

No, you wouldn't give up your practice to concentrate on a healthy individual.

So, what's wrong with him?

You're the diagnostician.

I'm not in your class. But, then, who is?

I'm flattered, but it doesn't take a diagnostician

to remark that a man looks well.

- If you want a diagnosis... - Oh, I hardly think that's necessary.

His ailment would appear to me to be quite obvious.

A first-year medical student would see it.

What? Look again.

What's happened to him?

You still maintain he looks well?

Of course not. This man is extremely ill.

And as you say, the symptoms would appear obvious to anyone.

Symptoms? What symptoms?

Well, you know very well. The general pallor, the shrunken body,

those hectic spots of color above the cheekbones,

the wrists and arms emaciated, the ribs too prominent,

those deep depressions here around the collarbone.

Yes, as you say, it's quite obvious.

The man would appear to be dying of endopulmonosis.

- You'd swear to that? - Well, not to the nature of the disease,

since I'm well aware that you're on to something far more complicated.

But to the external symptoms, yes.

Well, all right, Max. What's causing it? What brings it on so suddenly?

The effect of some unstable drug?

A recurrent fever? Perhaps a poison?

Nope. None of that.

As a matter of fact, Doctor, I don't agree with your diagnosis at all.

- You don't agree? - No, I don't.

I would say the patient exhibits no external signs of endopulmonosis. Not one.

You must be joking. Look again.

I've already looked. Go on. Look again.

What kind of trickery is this?

Well, Doctor, care to take another guess?

Of course it's some illusion, but to attempt a serious diagnosis...

Yes. Snap judgment. Go on. Tell me. Just tell me what you see.

Well, on the surface, a moment ago he appeared cadaverous.

Now the body is swollen.

The skin is puffed, the color bluish.

The wrists were emaciated. Now they're thickened.

So it's not endopulmonosis? What would you call it, then?

Auricular edema? Thank you, Doctor. No prompting, please.

I would say... Werblin's Disease.

Wrong again. Take another look.

Max, I've had enough of this!

Please, take another look. And meet John Fearing.

Dr. Talmadge.

This is a great pleasure. Were you surprised?

Were you impressed? What diseases did I do?

Endopulmonosis and Werblin's Disease.

Quite accurately, according to Dr. Talmadge.

I, uh, consider that praise from Caesar.

Your recovery was even more remarkable,

and I see no evidence of any disease, present or past.

Admit it! You've never seen a man so fit.

All right, I admit it. And I hope this time it's no illusion.

It isn't. You can practically feel the good health emanating, radiating from his body.

It's like an aura.

Well, that's a somewhat unscientific hypothesis.

John, you'd better get dressed for dinner.

All right.

Doctor, see you then.

How does he do it?

How does he simulate the symptoms, duplicate the diseases?

He doesn't. You couldn't be fooled by fakery. No, Miles.

When Fearing appears to be ill, he is ill...

because he sincerely believes he is.

Are you trying to tell me that all these ailments of his are psychosomatic?

- Completely. - But the physical manifestations...

Miles, how often have you been faced with the tangible symptoms of disease...

when that physical evidence was induced entirely by the mind?

But never so extreme... or brought about so suddenly.

The difference is just one of degree.

To some extent, we're all psychosomatic. Fearing is fantastically so.

- Where did you find him? - Here, as a patient, three years ago.

But not the, uh, beautifully balanced young man he is today.

He was a sick, neurotic weakling...

recovering from a case of bronchial asthma.

Two weeks after I discharged him, he was back again...

with a case of rheumatoid arthritis.

Then back again and still again, parading one disease after another.

He baffled all his doctors, including me.

The onsets were too sudden, the recoveries too swift.

So we never guessed at their emotional origin.

Until one day he came in with a germ disease...

and my microscope showed me no such germ in his body.

- What accounts for it? - Mmm, heredity, possibly.

His mother was hysterical, emotionally unsound,

given to one imaginary illness after another.

His father was exactly the same.

Now, if he inherited that combination, he more than doubled it...

and used it subconsciously in self-defense against the two of them.

- Where are they now? - Both dead.

But his body is still slavishly obedient to suggestion,

except that now it's controlled by a stronger mentality.

He doesn't strike me as cerebral, even now.

Not his mentality. Mine.

Hypnosis?

The image of every disease he "does," as he puts it,

has been planted in his subconscious by me.

Of course! That... That annoying tic I was afraid you'd developed,

those rappings with a pencil...

Those were cues to execute commands given earlier during the trance.

Exactly. He can't do a thing until he gets the proper signal.

In each case, there was a different pattern...

to trigger a different response, a different illness!

The most important and significant response was the last one:

The complete absence of illness, perfect health!

- That was psychosomatic? - That's the miracle!

That's why I've given up everything else to concentrate on this.

Miles, can you imagine the benefits if I can transmit this power to others?

The minds of men could cast disease out of their bodies,

resist degeneration, reverse the aging process,

pace the heart, stifle cancer,

conquer death!

Come now. Come now.

I share your enthusiasm, but you carry it too far.

Beyond death? Why stop there? Hmm?

What is death? A wall?

Or a door? Give me a definition.

Hmm. We have some new ones, haven't we, since the heart transplants?

We have. And if a man can live beyond his heartbeat,

why not beyond his brain waves?

At least beyond those we can measure. I say there's no limit!

And I say, Max, there is a limit as to how long Cook will wait for dinner.

I'll be right with you. Velda!

Miles. The one man I would like most in the world to take me down to dinner.

Mrs. Redford, you are halfway there.

I hate to comment on the obvious, Velda, but I've never seen you more beautiful.

Miles, dear, that's because I'm a happy woman. Completely content.

Well...

There's coffee and brandy, and cigars for those of you who can bear them.

Not for me. They make me sick. And I mean really sick.

John neither smokes nor drinks.

And coffee keeps me awake.

It seems that there's nothing here we can tempt you with.

We'll have to develop a vice for you, John.

How about, um... How about some fresh air? That's habit-forming.

I could do with a bit of that. No, Miles.

I can see that you and Max are dying to drown

yourselves in cigar smoke and deep scientific talk.

Miles.

Did you see them at dinner? Never took her eyes off him.

- You do nothing to discourage it. - How else can I keep him here?

He doesn't need me. He's got money, as well as everything else.

If it weren't for Velda, he'd be skiing in Switzerland...

or sunning himself in the South of France.

He knows this work we do here isn't pleasant for him.

Then do it elsewhere. I'll give you space in my own clinic.

Remove your work from your home and get him out.

Miles, don't you see? I can't separate them.

- If I do, I'll lose him. - That's more important than losing her?

I love Velda. She's been my life. You know that.

But Fearing... my immortality.

If it's worth that much to you, accept the price and get on with the work.

I try. I've done it so far, but the truth is I'm not that clinical.

Can you imagine what a lover he must be?

Perfect confidence in himself. None of the guilt...

or doubt or cowardice of body that betrays the average man.

I've created the perfect rival.

If you believe you've created that perfection,

you must've considered un-creating it?

Make him ugly?

Physically preadolescent?

Of course I've thought of it.

I could turn him into an idiot, an invalid, a grotesquely crippled monster!

Stop it, Max. Stop.

You think I'm capable of that?

♪♪

♪♪

Hmm. Good morning.

Good morning, Miles. Did you rest well?

Very. The flowers are beautiful. Thank you.

Did you grow them yourself? Yes.

- They don't give me much pleasure anymore. - Why not?

- It hurts me when they die. - Miles!

I'm being paged.

♪♪

He hasn't changed. Not yet, but he's prepared to.

And this time, you'll see the change.

To what? Watch.

If you're attempting what I think you are...

Take his pulse.

He has no pulse.

No heartbeat.

Nothing.

Last night, I asked you for a definition of death.

Here is death, Doctor. Perfectly counterfeited.

Death in life.

And I would defy any medical authority on earth to prove this man alive.

- You instructed him to be dead? - Yes.

I don't like this, Max. Get him out of it!

Watch.

Touch him.

Rigor mortis.

That's enough, Max! Bring him out!

For heaven's sake, Max, bring him out!

I don't know what you think you're trying to prove, but I know what you're doing!

And you can't! Not to him! Not to Velda!

You don't know what you're saying. You can't believe that.

You know me better, Miles. I thought so. Now prove it.

- Bring him out! - You'll see you're wrong, Miles.

You'll see.

See?

It's quite obvious.

A-Already there's a noticeable relaxation of the...

There is no change, Max. None at all.

Wait.

Dear God!

- John. - Get her out of here!

No! No!

No!

You... You've killed him.

You've killed him!

Oh, it's a trick, an illusion.

He's dead! You wanted it!

You willed it! You ordered it!

You told him to die, and he did!

Velda... Please, Doctor, no postmortem.

You have to listen.

Max has tried every known method to bring John back...

injections, electrical stimulus, surgical entry into the chest,

direct heart massage.

Bad enough he had to kill him. But to cut him up?

I'm trying to say no one could have made a greater effort...

or a more skillful one.

Whatever personal doubts I may have had about Max...

were overcome as I watched him work.

You thought he was dead when he was alive.

Suppose he is alive even now.

What if his mind is alive and locked in a dead body?

That's impossible.

Is it, Doctor?

Can you tell me without any reservation...

that when they bury John Fearing in one or two days...

he won't be buried alive?

Velda, John's death was tragic.

But that's all it was... his death.

You'll have to accept that.

Yes, I can accept death.

I could even welcome it now.

What I can't accept...

is living on.

♪♪

For this corruptible must put on incorruption...

and this mortal put on immortality.

O death, where is thy sting?

O grave, where is thy victory?

This concludes our services for John Michael Fearing.

♪♪

She hasn't spoken nor looked at me since it happened.

But I'd be grateful if you took her home.

Velda.

Let me drive you home.

Thank you. It's not far, you know. It's just beyond the hill.

We used to joke about it. A cemetery so close to the hospital.

The walk will do me good.

You shouldn't be alone.

I've always been alone.

Velda?

What is it?

Well, surely you haven't forgotten me. Has it been so long since...

The funeral. Oh, yes.

But what are you doing here if you know John is dead?

I've come to see Max. He sent for me.

Max?

Don't talk to him. Don't go near him.

He has the power.

You'd better go upstairs. You need some rest.

Come in, Miles.

Can you stay the night? As long as you want me.

We're all so fragile...

when our thoughts can do that to our bodies.

You don't look well yourself, Max.

I had hoped your invitation after so long a time...

might mean you were taking up your work again.

No. I'm gonna take Velda away.

Maybe somewhere where the sun is brighter I

may be able to bring her out of the shadows.

First there's something I want you to have.

It's a complete account of my experiments with Fearing.

I've been all this time preparing it...

Well, my notes and theories.

Here are the actual voice recordings.

Of my work with Fearing under hypnosis...

along with a full statement of my responsibility for his death.

That's insanity.

Oh, I... I never meant to kill him.

Not consciously.

My work was a stronger drive than my jealousy.

But... suppressed emotions have a way of breaking through.

When I think of that magnificent body rotting in the tomb...

Stop it. Stop it. You did all you could to revive him.

But did I fail him... because I wanted to?

Miles, study this.

And if you still believe there was no guilt in me,

make me believe it.

Do you understand, John?

If so, raise your hand.

Ah, good. Relax.

Yes, you will respond, John,

just as Lazarus did.

The illusion of death will be dispelled completely.

You will return to full and vibrant life...

when you hear this signal.

Now listen, John.

If you understand the signal, raise your hand.

Put it down. You have it.

Yes? Who is it?

It's me, Max.

Oh, Miles, the door's not locked. Come on in.

The signal... What?

The signal... You gave it wrong. What are you saying?

To bring Fearing back. This was it.

Of course. Don't you think I know that? That's the signal I gave.

Max, can't you hear it, even now?

His cue to revive was three and two. I've been listening to the tapes.

So have I. A thousand times. And that's the signal I gave.

Three and two. Three and two. Over and over again.

No! The signal you gave again and again was this!

Three and one!

Impossible. I remember.

- I was there! I was there! - I'll never forget it.

- Three and one. Three and one! - No.

Max, don't you understand what you've done?

Even when you heard your mistake on the tapes, your unconscious mind corrected it.

Even now you're blocking it! Consciously, you gave the signal right.

But unconsciously, you gave it wrong!

Then it's true. I killed him.

Or did you?

Velda!

She heard. She knows the signal.

Max, wait. Wait? Don't you realize where she's going?

Velda!

Velda!

Velda!

Velda, no!

Velda, no!

Painting number two. Something on the abstract side...

to annotate that which is not abstract at all:

Greed, avarice and man's constant hunger to

change what he doesn't like by whatever means.

Said means in this case being a little science mixed with a little black magic.

Welcome, if you will, "The Housekeeper."

What does he want?

I mean, did he ask for a poor, funny-looking old lady?

Well, as you insist on hearing it, Miss Wattle, that's exactly what he did ask for.

Oh, I'm sorry. I really am. Look, do sit down.

Oh, thank you.

There was another qualification:

A good heart, by which he meant a kind heart.

The blessed man.

Why, that means that he's an awful kind-hearted old gent "hisself."

Oh, he is. Only not old.

And oh so handsome.

Frankly, if I was older and funnier looking...

Oh, I'm sorry. But you did say it yourself.

Such cruel words, but I know his intentions are anything but cruel.

Frankly, when he first came to me for a housekeeper,

it never occurred to me to offer you. Well, I should think not!

Oh, I thought he'd naturally want someone more, um...

- Well, someone more. - I should think so.

But he surprised me. He told me...

And you can imagine my astonishment... I do.

He said, "I want someone that no one else would want."

- The blessed man! - "An old hag."

The darling!

"Someone whose chances of getting a job with anyone else...

would be absolutely sub-zero."

I was made to order!

And you have no family, Miss Wattle? None at all?

No, sir. They all passed on.

And no friends?

- They moved away. - And no references?

No, sir. Not in the last five years.

I see. I'll get it. Oh!

Do you feel cheated, Miss Wattle?

Cheat... Did you say cheated, sir?

Yes, yes. Cheated by nature. Oh, be frank with me, I beg of you.

When you see the lavish gifts bestowed by nature upon her favorites...

When you see another woman, young and beautiful,

whose stride swings and whose shape swings with energy,

can you help but ask yourself why?

Why her? Why not me?

Oh, Miss Wattle, won't you let me help you?

Are you a doctor, sir?

Oh, no. No, Miss Wattle. Just someone who cares.

Well, sir, I guess I have felt something of the sort over the years,

now that the subject comes up.

And you told yourself you'd give anything...

Anything you had, short of your immortal soul...

To look as she does, to feel as she must,

to embrace that surge of vitality that carries her past you?

Well, sir, as a matter of fact...

Only, if I'm not speakin' out of turn,

what good can it do to talk about it?

It don't change the price of potatoes.

Speaking of potatoes...

No, thank you.

This way, please.

Mr. Acton, are you quite sure I can't give you your usual table?

No. That table's excellent. The lady and I wish to be alone, Maurice.

Very well, sir.

Let me.

May I, madam?

Oh. Thank you.

Oh, I'll take that. Thank you, sir.

I feel I must point out, sir,

your wife is sitting right over there.

Oh, yes, of course she is. But she's much too

concerned with that young man to notice us.

Yes, sir. Your wife, sir?

Yes, Miss Wattle.

That is my wife.

Exactly the kind of woman we've been talking about.

Possessed of every attribute you lack, every favor you've been denied.

A face and a figure to grace a goddess.

My! Oh, dear, my! She has got everything.

Frog's legs. No, I'm having the frog's legs.

Miss Wattle is having the pig's knuckles.

Oh, they look delicious!

May I? I'll take it. Pull the cork.

Thank you. I'll do it.

Has got everything.

Yes. And more. More?

Mm. A great deal more. Seven million dollars more.

My goodness!

Mm-hmm. That's what she has not got.

Beg your pardon, sir?

Your goodness. In that department, she has nothing. Less than nothing!

For inside that ripe and perfect shell, Miss Wattle,

there dwells one withered, wizzled... peanut.

Peanut? Did you say peanut?

The selfishness. The ingratitude. The way she talks of leaving me.

As if she were the injured one. All right. So be it. So be it.

As you say, sir.

Of course, except for the seven million dollars.

Because if she goes... believe me, Miss Wattle... there goes the money.

She'd think nothing of taking it and turning me out to shift for myself.

Well, I don't think you should be tellin' me, sir.

I'm sorry. I am sorry. When I speak of that woman, I... Please forgive me.

Miss Wattle,

what would you give to change places with her?

Change places?

Well, sir, I haven't given that a great deal of thought.

You'd be wonderful. You have everything she lacks.

- I have? - Yes.

A warm heart, a gentle nature, a mellow and forgiving soul.

Yes. You'd be marvelous.

You should be the one to occupy that magnificent edifice,

and she should be there, inside that run-down old hovel of yours.

Well, I don't think I'd better think about that, sir.

There's no sense in breakin' your heart...

over what's not possible.

Oh, but it is possible! Quite possible!

Do you, by any chance, know anything of personality transplant?

Personality...

Well, no matter. For my purpose, all you need to know is the principle.

In effect, one personality is uprooted and made to flourish...

in other soil... other flesh...

While the previous occupant undergoes a

simultaneous transplantation to the body vacated.

Do you see?

Ah, yes, sir. It all sounds very scientific.

But I thought you was looking for a housekeeper, sir, so to speak.

Yes, that's exactly it. What I am looking for, Miss Wattle.

Someone who will keep my house for me, so to speak.

♪♪

Get the idea, Miss Wattle?

Yes, sir. But do you mind tellin' me,

how do you do it?

Oh, the process is very difficult to learn, Miss Wattle.

Oh, yes. I've spent many long hours poring over these ancient books and records,

committing to memory certain incantations,

instructing myself in the skillful compounding of

certain herbs and toxins to be added to the diet...

to prepare and fertilize the soil prior to transfer.

Well, I'm not too quick, sir, but you are givin' me the shudders.

Oh, I... I am sorry.

I suppose all this talk of potions and incantations

sounds like black magic to you.

But I assure you, the principle is crystal clear,

and it works without a lot of mumbo jumbo.

Yes. One live frog does the trick.

A frog, sir?

Yes. The common jumping frog.

Are you surprised? I know I was.

Oh, they're really remarkable creatures.

They're mentioned in the Egyptian Book of the Dead.

Thoth, the god of the underworld...

Oh, but I don't want to bore you with these details.

You can do almost anything with them.

Hmm. Yes.

They're especially good as transformers or conduits.

Oh, dear! Oh, my!

Well, if you don't mind my sayin' so, sir,

I think it's time I'm on my way.

To where, Miss Wattle?

To what?

I don't exactly know. No, of course you don't.

Because there is nowhere to go, is there?

And nothing for you to do.

Miss Wattle, here and now is your last chance.

And what a chance!

Consider the years of youth and beauty that can be yours.

Or, if you prefer, consider the money. The money?

The seven million dollars.

Oh, yes, that's part of what you get, along with the face and figure.

Miss Wattle, consider... Consider the, uh... the jewels,

the servants, the houses, the homes, the yacht.

- The yachts, if you wish. - I'm a bit too old for the sailor's life.

But you'd be young... and rich and beautiful...

with three-and-half-million dollars of your very own.

Seven. Oh, yes.

But of course we'll share it. We're not greedy people.

Not like that miserable peanut in her beautiful

shell that wants to keep it all for herself.

And later on, if you find you can't care for me as a husband,

you can divorce me. I wouldn't want to do that.

Yeah, but if you should want to, I won't contest it.

We can draw up the papers first, dividing the estate.

And then, with three-and-a-half-million dollars of your very own,

and a face and figure worth another million,

you'll be free to pick and choose any man you want...

Any man at all... If I should prove unsuitable.

Well, I wouldn't want to be greedy.

Cedric, get rid of her! She's quite impossible!

Get her out of here!

Pay her off. Give her two weeks' salary, anything,

but I want her out of this house within the hour.

Really, Cedric, this time you've gone too far.

To presume to take upon yourself the hiring of my domestics.

This is the final straw!

Well, sir, there goes the ball game.

Oh, nonsense. What did you expect?

A welcome, or even civility, from her?

I told you that shriveled peanut of a personality simply has to go.

Checkmate.

I'll show you to your room. Come.

My room? It's only temporary.

Tonight you'll be sleeping in a bed of roses.

Now, we've just had this redecorated for our farm... housekeeper,

and I'm sure you'll be very pleased.

Right up here. Head of the stairs.

Miss Wattle, from now until one minute before 9:00,

you must concentrate on this picture.

Here. Sit down.

I want you to bring all your strength of thought...

and effort of will to bear upon it.

I want you to see it with more than your eyes,

with all the perception that lies behind your eyes.

Now concentrate, concentrate.

That's right. And leave the rest to me.

I'd like to see you at 9:00 exactly in the library.

Now concentrate.

Cedric, you constantly subject me to these ridiculous embarrassments.

You twist and turn the picture to put me in the cruelest light,

to make me look as hard and shallow as you are yourself!

Well, no more! Not again! Not ever!

You've had it for the last time!

Do you hear me? Yes. I've had it for the last time.

I'm leaving you. Don't you understand?

Twenty-two, 21, 20. When I come back, you're not to be here.

You're to be gone, out,

Bag and baggage.

I'm divorcing you with remarkable justification and excellent evidence,

and you'll not come out of it with one cent of my money.

Not a penny! I guarantee it!

Nine, eight, seven... What is that?

Is that a frog?

Five, four, three, Cedric, are you really

insane? Will you get the creature out of here!

Two, one. Help! Somebody! He's turned a frog on me!

Oh, my! Oh, dear! Oh, my!

Cedric, stop it! Stop it! Stop it, Cedric!

You understand, Mrs. Acton? I never knew what he had in mind.

Not that part. He never explained to me about that.

Not a word.

Oh, how beautiful you are!

Yes.

Now I can see character and compassion in those eyes.

A new light shines through the window of your soul.

Oh, my sweet.

Oh, no, sir! No, you don't! Don't you touch me! Don't you dare touch me!

I hardly need point out, Miss Wattle,

that you now defend the citadel to which I hold the lease.

Not no more, sir! Not while I'm in charge!

Sir, you'll forgive me for sayin' so, but you're a terrible man!

Sir, you're nothin' but a monster!

And you, my darling Miss Wattle, are a monster no more.

You see the power of your instincts?

You're doing very well.

Our bedroom is at the head of these stairs.

Our what? Oh, it's all right.

We are married, you know. Not to my way of thinkin'!

But that's a technicality. Not to me!

Surely you haven't forgotten what it means to be a woman.

I ain't so sure I ever knew.

You are one. You're twice the woman either one of you ever was.

I used to be mad about your face and your figure. Now I can love your soul as well.

Oh, no, you can't!

And that ain't no way to talk to a lady.

I hate to be obvious, darling, but you're no lady.

You're my wife.

Wait! Wait!

All right, darling. I understand.

You need time...

Time to adjust to the miracle of your youth...

and your health and wealth.

Take all the time you need. You can afford it now.

We can both afford it now.

Miss Wattle?

Breakfast, darling!

Oh, surely you've had enough time. It's been three days now.

Eventually you're gonna have to come out, so why not now?

The world is waiting to welcome you. It's wide and wonderful.

Won't you let me introduce you to it?

We could go away. We could travel.

Go to Cannes, Biarritz, Saint-Tropez.

Let me show you what it means to be a woman...

To be envied, admired and loved.

If not by me, by any man you want.

Come on. Show me your powers.

Test your powers. Unlock the door.

Darling?

You look wonderful!

Darling, you look just beautiful!

Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I'm turnin' in my notice.

What? Well, you can't do... You're my wife! You really can't do that.

As for bein' your wife, I've got it all thought out.

And the upshot of it is I'm leavin' you. I knew something like this would happen!

That bein' the case, sir, good-bye. Please let me talk to you.

Just give me one moment of your time. Surely I'm entitled to one moment.

Very well. But just for a moment. Let me have it. Of course.

Would you go in there, please?

What do you want to talk about?

Well, I would like to talk about the... the settlement.

The settlement. Oh, yes. Well, sir, there's not to be any.

Not to be any?

No, sir. As I say, I got it all thought out,

and it wouldn't do at all for you to profit by a single cent...

out of the terrible thing you've done.

Your wife would say the same in my place.

So I owe it to her to take the money and go.

- The whole seven million? - To the last penny.

Oh. You're ungrateful, Miss Wattle.

- What did you expect, sir? - Something of the sort.

Oh, dear! How many times?

Dear God! How many times?

Until we get it right.