All language subtitles for She Wolf of London - 01x06 - Little Bookshop of Horrors

We've got him, Hope.
Elliot's lined up the proxies,

I've talked to
our biggest clients.

They're all as fed up
with Miles as we are.

So, you're going to force Miles
out of the agency he created,

that he built up
from nothing?

He's changed.

His methods are manipulative
and unproductive.

(LAUGHS) It's like
working for Mussolini.

But Miles gave you a job
when we were starving.

Do you think I don't know that? Hmm?

Hmm? The thought of it haunts
me every minute of the day.

Only it's him or me.

I don't think it's Miles that's changed.

(SIGHS)

Maybe I have changed.

(EXCLAIMING) My God, am
I turning into my father?

HOPE: Off with his head!

Go ahead, make jokes. It's
not as if we didn't warn Miles.

My tarts!
Who stole my tarts?

Who?

Was it you?
Off with his head!

This isn't funny, Hope.

(SCREAMS)

My tarts.

I just think that you owe Miles a little
more than cutting him off at the knees.

(SCREAMING)

Ten years of research,
three years of writing,

a third of my life
went into this book,

and now finally
it's finished.

I'm sure it will be worth
every minute you spent on it.

I'll say. This is
my ticket to tenure.

We're so very
proud of you.

I can't wait to
read it.

I hope it's better
than the last one.

Stuff it, you old hag.
It was a damn fine book.

It's why I came to
England in the first place.

It was as dull
as dishwater.

But it landed me the job at the university,
which is just what I wrote it for.

Put me to sleep quicker than
all those little green pills.

"Chelsea Yuppie Hacks Hubby.

"Alice In Wonderland Possessed
Me." Now, that's writing.

You know, your book
changed my life.

I read the first chapter,
and I switched majors.

Well, I hope it's got a
couple of juicy murders in it.

And a bit of steamy sex
wouldn't hurt, either.

Ooh, let's see.

"Fright and Fraud:

"Ethno-biocentric
Morphogenesis

"of the Mephisto Fallacy."

I doubt it.
Catchy title.

I'm sure it's
a cracking good read.

Academics don't want
a cracking good read, Dad.

They want dull,
stuffy, pompous books.

And you're just the man
to give it to them.

A couple of jokes
might help.

I think it sounds
fascinating.

Well, I thank you all
for your interest.

Randi, you can have the privilege
of being the first person to read it.

And probably the last.

How can you expect a publicist
to be excited about your book

when you're
so bored by it?

Because every university library
is run by a committee of professors,

all writing duller books
than mine.

And every member of every committee
gets to vote for every book,

so that when their own ghastly
dissertations are finally published,

everyone else buys them.

Oh.
How can you be so cynical?

Welcome to academia.

IAN: What do you mean,
it won't sell?

It's a doorstop.
A lead weight.

A commercial
suicide pill.

This book fills
a vacuum in the field.

It exposes the mythological
foundations of...

Snooze.

It's exactly
what you publish.

Published.

This is what
we publish now.

We want scorching,
we want commercial.

Like this.

Slob Dog is phenomenal. It's going
to be a major publishing event.

Cuts across all
demographic lines.

Kids cuddle him, adults
think he's a riot.

What about Trident
Publishing's 50-year commitment

to academic publications?

Bankrupt, right along with
the rest of the division.

Which is why it's been acquired,
and acquired for peanuts,

by Triax Multi-Products
International.

But I have a contract.

There. Invest it wisely.

I recommend
Triax stock.

Surely someone appreciates
the need for academic books,

the need to educate
as well as entertain.

Some guy, uh,
Ganza's Antiquarian Books,

sent that to Dave McDonnell,
the new president of the company.

When he saw it wasn't porno,
he tossed it in the trash.

I dug it out, 'cause I thought
it would look classy on my desk.

This money is
meaningless to me.

I want to educate, to illuminate, to
explore the boundaries of my field.

My career is
riding on this.

A professor's reputation is
built on his published works.

If you don't publish,
you perish.

All right,
I'll make you a deal.

But you've gotta
meet me halfway.

Now, this, uh,
mythological stuff,

what it comes down to is monsters,
ghosts, blood and gore, right?

(SCOFFS) If you look at it
superficially, yes, but...

If you look
at it commercially,

which is how you better start looking
at things if you want to get published.

Now, horror
is hot, hot, hot.

Stephen King,
literary giant.

Appeal to that crowd,
you got a winner.

Now, give me
lots of blood,

lots of italics,
some sizzle.

Juicy murders, steamy
sex, a couple of jokes?

You got it! Jazz it up.
I knew you'd understand.

I'd change the title
if I were you.

(SIGHS)

You share the tastes
of the common reader.

Maybe you could help me.

I'll try.

How would Stephen King
say this?

"As the interstitial
matrices of good and evil

"blend towards the unity
of Ur Mephistopheles,

"they transcend the nature
of the Faust legend."

Hmm. Let me think.

How about,

"Blood dripped
from her naked body

"and spread
across the crypt,

"her once lovely features

"hideously deformed
by the rictus of death."

Sorry.

It's useless.

(DOOR OPENING)

(GASPING) We got
stuck in traffic.

I didn't think we'd
make it back in time!

Since when has
there been a curfew?

Hey, Professor, we got you
some real books this time.

Check this out.

"River of Molten Blood."

(GROWLING)

"Bloodbath Day Camp
for Girls?"

What's this?

Your audience.

Are you all right?

(SNARLING)

(PANTING) Yes, yes. I'm
just a little out of shape.

I think I'll go downstairs
and relax for a little while.

The cellar.
My audience is students,

scholars and researchers.

Not to mention heads of department
of the world's finest universities.

But that doesn't mean that
your books need be boring.

It certainly does.

(SCREAMING)

I feel strongly
about this.

No kidding.

If it upsets you,
imagine how I feel about...

(GRUNTING)

Oh. Oh, my.

Perhaps we can discuss
this another time.

(PANTING)

When we talk about literature,
she gets the animal in her.

Americans.

Uh-huh.

Oh, God. Oh!

I just don't understand
how to write commercially.

You can do it.

(SCREAMING)

God!

(PANTING)

(RANDI SCREAMING)

ELSA: Lan!

(PANTING)

I am a scholar, therefore
I write scholarly books.

I can't write
like Stephen King.

Yes, you can. Just write
about what you know.

What do you think
I've been doing?

You've been writing
about what you knew.

You can't hide
in folklore,

fiction and myths
any longer.

We both know
they're real.

Some of it.

A lot of it.

Maybe.

Face what I am.
Face what it means.

I have.

(GASPING)

Sometimes...
I like it. Oh!

(GRUNTING)

I need you on my side.

Or else I could
just give in to it.

Oh! Go, go!

(GROANING)

(GROWLING)

Randi.

(GROWLING)

(SIGHING)

And we project the
Slob Dog calendar alone

can boost the
November sales

in your stores overall by
as much as five percent.

But combine that with a
multimedia push all across the UK,

and the December publication
of the Slob Dog paperback line,

we anticipate a fourth
quarter sales increase

totaling as much
as ten percent.

Now, exactly how big
should the campaign be?

How many advertising
dollars are there

compared to the number
of books being shipped?

That's a very good question.

Mel.

I'll leave you
to field that one.

Mel?

We are waiting, Mel.

I left those figures
on my desk.

I'll only be a moment.

So much for his bonus.

(ALL LAUGHING)

And I'm sure that you'll
find the figures quite...

Aye, breach your last
to the sun, Moby Dick!

Thy hour and thy harpoon are at hand!

That bonus thing, it was
just my idea of a joke.

A bad joke.

Towards thee I roll, thou
all-destroying and un-conquering whale.

To the last
I grapple with thee!

A bad joke.
A very, very bad joke.

From hell's heart,
I stab at thee.

For hate's sake, I spit
my last breath at thee!

(GROANS)

(EXCLAIMS)

Ho, ho!

From all your furthest
bounds, pour ye now in,

ye bold billows of
my whole forgone life,

and top this one piled
comber of my death!

(SCREAMING)

(WOMAN SCREAMS)

(CRASHING)

I can't believe what
the world is coming to.

Some nutball harpooned his boss,
and then leapt out of a building.

"Peg-leg Psycho Spears Boss,
Leaps, and Goes Splat!"

How can you throw
away good money

on that salacious, libelous,
irresponsible drivel?

It's no different
from that stuffy rag.

This is a respectable newspaper,
not like that twaddle you read.

It's all the same twaddle,
it's only different headlines.

You should be contributing
to the financial welfare

of this household, not
supporting rumormongers.

You guys aren't going to believe this
wacko story I just heard on the radio.

Oh, shut up!

What did you hear?

You, too? I'm sorry
I brought it up.

Brought what up?

"The booksellers
watched, horrified,

"as the man dressed
as a sea captain

"impaled the publisher
with a harpoon."

"Then the drooling, psychopathic
lunatic jumped out the window,

"plunged screaming
to his death below."

Oh, my God!

Lose your appetite?

Lost my publisher.

IAN: I can't believe it.
He seemed so... So centered.

Ah, self-centered,
you mean.

I don't mean to
speak ill of the dead,

but I worked for him for two years, and
he never even bothered to learn my name.

Is that why you cleaned
out his office so fast?

Publishing is a high-pressure,
cutthroat business.

One moment you're
an executive secretary,

the next minute
you're an editor.

You either bear up under the pressure,
or you crack, like poor, sweet Mel.

(SIGHING)

I've always wanted
a window office.

Congratulations.

There's an old saying, out
of tragedy comes opportunity.

Life goes on.

No rest for
the wicked.

Exactly.

Oh, I know I'll
be a good editor.

I thrive under pressure,
I'm great with people,

and I'm steeped
in the classics.

I've read every word Jackie
Collins has ever written.

(GROANS)

One of the greats.

God!

They couldn't have found
a better person for the job.

Thank you, Professor.

Someone insightful, creative,
willing to take chances.

A corporate rebel.
A woman with a vision.

You took the words
right out of my mouth.

Which, coincidentally, brings
me to another fine book,

written by myself.

Oh, make an appointment with
my secretary, Miss, uh...

Miss What's -her-name,
and we'll talk.

Thank you
so much.

Oh, wait.

Mel would have wanted
you to have this.

You're the only one around here
who'd want to read it, anyway.

So thoughtful
of you.

IAN: You know, there'll never
be another like Mel Berger.

He believed so greatly
in literature

that when forced to publish
inane drivel, he went mad.

That's an editor.

That's a crock.

Look, no matter how upset
he was about axing your book,

there's no way that harpoon was
a product of his imagination.

I mean, to say nothing of the salt water
that he was dripping all over the carpet.

I suppose this is
where you tell me

that Mel Berger was actually possessed
by the spirit of Captain Ahab.

Right. And this is where you tell
me that this is the real world,

and such things
don't happen.

Right. And then you remind me
that you turn into a wild beast

every time
there's a full moon,

and that doesn't happen
in the real world, either.

But I do.

I know.

What are you
looking for?

"Chelsea Yuppie Hacks Hubby, Says
Alice in Wonderland Possessed Me."

Don't you see?

There are two murders
in one week,

and both are committed by
characters from literature.

Wonderful!

When Lady Chatterley arrives,
send her over to my place.

Look, we've got to
do something.

Like what?

Like talk to
the Chelsea Yuppie.

Visiting hours are in 30
minutes, and you're driving.

Randi!

RANDl: Just hear her out,
and try to understand her.

I understand her perfectly.
She's an axe murderer.

You're not being
very constructive.

Shall I advise her
on her backhand?

I wasn't
expecting visitors.

We read about you
in the paper.

We think that maybe we can help you.

Really? Can you
bring Michael back?

Can you give me the life
I had before I snapped?

I know how you feel.

How can you?

One minute I'm normal,
standing in my kitchen,

and the next I'm
on this vast lawn,

with all these weird people
standing all around me.

They looked like
playing cards.

IAN: Playing cards?

And we were
playing golf.

But instead of clubs,
we were using giant birds.

And they were
twisting around, and...

(COUGHING)

You weren't playing golf, you were playing
croquet, using flamingos as mallets.

How could you
possibly know?

I've read
Alice In Wonderland.

Of course. Right before
the Queen of Hearts

discovers that the Knave
of Hearts stole her tarts.

And demand that
he be beheaded.

Surely you remember
the passage.

I haven't read it.

The police found a copy of Alice
In Wonderland in your house.

By your husband's body.

It was a gift from
this dotty old man.

I went into his bookshop looking
for the new Sidney Sheldon,

and he was so embarrassed
that he didn't have it

that he gave me this
dusty, old book for nothing.

Do you remember
the name of the shop?

How could I forget it?

He read about me in the
paper, and he sent me this.

(HOPE COUGHING)

"Courtesy of Ganza
Antiquarian Books."

Call the Infirmary at once.
We've got an emergency.

How odd.

It's probably
just a bad cold.

It's going around,
you know.

No, I mean this.

Mel Berger's copy of
Moby Dick also came

courtesy of
Ganza Antiquarian Books.

Let's go.

(SIGHING) Right.
I'll handle this.

Take no prisoners.

May I help you?

Yes. We are
looking for...

A leather-bound copy of Moby
Dick, or maybe Alice In Wonderland.

Browse.

Actually, uh, we had a few
questions we wanted to ask you.

Only if I can ask
you one first.

Aren't you
Dr. Lan Matheson,

author of The Face of Fear:
Monsters in the Age of Reason?

Why, yes, I am.

(WHISPERING)
Oh, God.

A ground-breaking text.

The first that advocated a postmodern
approach to the analysis of evil,

as it appears in cultural
myths, icons and legends.

That's the one!

A pleasure.

You liked it?
Oh, I loved it.

It was utterly
fascinating.

I learned quite a bit,
I must say.

Have you given much thought to untangling
the morphogenesis of the Mephisto fallacy?

Why, yes, as a matter
of fact, I have.

I've just finished
a ground-breaking work

that deconstructs the underpinnings
of the Mephisto fallacy

from an ethno-biocentric
perspective.

I feel it should
be quite provocative.

I could talk about
your work all day,

but I don't suppose that's
the reason you came in here.

It isn't? Oh, right. Well,
it was nothing important.

Now that I've met you, I'm
embarrassed even to ask.

You must mean the
Alice In Wonderland killing.

Or the Moby Dick
murder-suicide.

Well, it's no secret. Both
those books came from this store.

You don't say.

A morbid,
shocking coincidence.

Yes, isn't it?

Literature has a hard enough
time surviving in today's world

without being blamed
for murders on top of it.

It's true. My editor called
Stephen King a literary giant,

and dismissed Melville's Moby
Dick as an attractive paperweight.

What has happened to fine
literature, to academic publishing?

Mind you, there is a certain
delicious irony in these killings.

The big bookstore chains, the
conglomerates who buy publishers,

none of them care
about literature.

All they want is
blood, guts and sex.

And now literature is
becoming associated with it.

Maybe it will
even boost sales.

It won't matter
if it does.

Chaps like me are
being squeezed out.

Soon there'll be no room
for the likes of me

or the likes of Shakespeare,
Tolstoy, Dickens...

Proust, Flaubert...

Or Matheson.

Explain this.

It's a book, dear.
You read them.

She's from Los Angeles.

This book just jumped
off the shelf at me.

I can see what you mean.
It's a beautiful binding.

Anna Karenina, no wonder!
One of my all-time favorites.

We'll take it.

We will not.
This book is...

As rich in human drama as it is
in devastating social criticism.

What does she
owe you for it?

I couldn't sell it.
Not to her.

Believe me,
she'll treasure it.

These books are killing
people, and I want to know why.

I'm sorry you can believe such a
terrible thing about such beautiful books.

Literature never
hurt anyone.

It can only make the
world a better place.

I insist you sell us this
book. Randi must have it.

(MOUTHING) What?

I suppose she must.
That'll be fifty pounds.

Pay the man.

Thank you so much
for your help.

My pleasure, Doctor.
Come back any time.

This book is haunted.

Yes, it certainly
looks that way.

Shall you exorcise it,
or shall I?

Go ahead, joke. But this
book could kill me, you know.

If you can stand my books, I'm sure
you can survive classic literature.

That old man
is hiding something.

Yes, the last refuge of
classic literature in London.

He should be applauded,
not persecuted.

Come along, Randi.

I don't want to
torment you any longer.

Don't you think you are
exaggerating just a bit?

I shall set you free.

Randi.

Randi? Wait!

Randi, wait.

Who am I?
An immoral woman.

A millstone
around your neck.

Honestly, you're not
that bad. Randi, wait.

Where did you
get that dress?

Why did I not die? Karenin
in shame, in disgrace.

My own death. Death
will wipe out everything.

Karenin?

To die.

Anna Karenina.

Randi!

(SCREAMING)
Randi, no.

IAN: Randi? Randi.

Randi?

(GRUNTS)

Lan.

Oh, Randi. I'm so glad
you're all right.

I thought you...

Yeah.

Now do you believe me?

Camille.

What?

Her cough.

The courtesan in Camille
died of consumption.

Oh, my God.
Those books are haunted.

Oh, really.

The delivery man.

What?

We have to find out where
the delivery man was going.

What delivery man?

He was leaving the store when
we arrived, with boxes of books.

We have to find out
where he was taking them.

Yes.
Hurry!

Hello? Ganza?

I demand a refund.

The ending of Anna Karenina
just didn't blow me away.

What a shame.

Most people find
the climax devastating.

Perhaps
you'd like another?

I'll pass.

How could you sell these
haunted books to people?

I thought you
loved books.

Love?

It's more than love.

I cherish literature,

and I'll do anything
I can to protect it.

But how can I stand up against
the multinational bookstore chains,

the mass market
paperbacks?

Harlequin romances,

or movie novelizations?

But your books, they weren't
always haunted, were they?

I was on a book
hunting expedition.

I stumbled across this
tiny farmhouse in Scotland.

The book had been in the
family for generations.

Curiosity piece, really.

The Compendium of Alchemy.

Good man!
What a marvelous find!

Lan.

The most extraordinary example
of ethno-biocentric morphogenesis.

Oh, I studied it
for years.

I am so jealous.

Lan!

It's a mythologist's
dream. A career.

I could write a dozen
books on it alone.

Do you realize what an
incredible find this is?

Do you realize
what a lunatic he is?

Who knows what spells
could be in it?

What cures?

Cures?

I knew I'd find my answer
in those words. And I did.

I cast a spell,

and now my books
can protect themselves.

So you sent your foul books
to publishers? To customers?

To the House of Commons.

IAN: The House of Commons?

They passed the laws that
allowed American conglomerates

to swallow up
British publishers,

to trample on small booksellers
under an army of franchises.

By nightfall,
they will pay!

Dearly!

No, they won't.

Because we're gonna stop that
shipment before it gets there.

I think not.

(CYCLOPS GROWLING)

(BOTH EXCLAIMING)

RANDl: What is it?

It's a Cyclops,
Randi!

(GRUNTING)

Lan.

(GRUNTS)

(SCREAMS)

(EXCLAIMING)

(GROWLING)

(SCREAMING)

(EXCLAIMING)

(GRUNTING)

(EXCLAIMING)

(GROWLING)

(GROANING)

The only way to find out
where the delivery truck is,

is to plot all
the different routes

between the bookshop
and the House of Commons.

Assuming, of course, the
delivery hasn't been made already.

Or we could just call the
delivery company and ask them.

Oh, yes, right.

We could just call
them up and say,

"Hello, we're trying to stop
a delivery of haunted books.

"Could you help us?"

I swiped the receipt
off Ganza's desk.

The truck number is 22, the
driver's name is Hubert Phipps.

Oh, Hubert Phipps. Why
didn't you say so earlier?

This makes the job
so much easier.

(SIGHING) Obviously, you
don't watch enough television.

You mean he's a delivery
man and a television star?

I mean, all we need
is a little chutzpah.

You know, like
Jim Rockford or Kojak.

Or Lucy Ricardo.

We have the truck number,
and we have the driver's name,

so all we need is
a little imagination.

Randi, this is real life.

(IN BRITISH ACCENT) Hello,
is Hubie Phipps there, please?

Hubie?

WOMAN: Can you tell me
who's speaking, please?

Yes, this is Mrs. Phipps.

Assuming the delivery truck
was traveling 40 miles an hour,

and left the bookshop
30 minutes ago.

Oh, he's on
a delivery? Hmm.

Could you
patch me in to him?

This isn't going
to work, Randi.

Now, taking into account the
rush hour traffic problems...

HUBERT: Hello?

Hello, Hubie, darling?
I want you so much.

We're dead.

(LAUGHS)

I told you the delivery company
would believe I was his wife.

I told you they'd
patch me on to him.

Well, what if he wasn't married?
What if he wasn't in the mood?

Oh, come on. What man would deny the
urgent plea of a hot-blooded female

to meet at a classy hotel
and make mad, passionate love?

(SNICKERING)
Okay, maybe one.

Uh-oh, no keys.

No problem. It's just a good thing he had
one more stop before the House of Commons.

What are you complaining
about? It worked, didn't it?

Hey, where'd you
learn to do that?

You don't have a career
criminal for a brother

without learning a few
tricks of the trade.

(ENGINE STARTING)

Like jimmying a lock, picking
a pocket, snatching a purse.

RANDl: It's a shame that one of
those tricks wasn't truck driving.

It's just a big car.
I'll get the hang of it.

Just get the hang of it before you
wrap us around a telephone pole!

(CARS HONKING)

First we find the wondrous
Compendium of Alchemy

and take the curse
off the bookstore,

then we take
the curse off you.

I'll be free.
A normal woman.

We can start anew.
Together.

RANDl: Like normal people? Like
it should have been to begin with?

IAN: Exactly.

I'd like that. You never
got to know the real me.

Imagine, no more secret life.
I won't be a savage beast.

You won't have to hide me in
the cellar, put me in chains,

find me in the morning,
hungry, sweaty, naked.

Look out.

(TIRES SCREECHING)

(EXHALES)

Perhaps we should start
again, one step at a time.

If you don't kill us first.

At least it'll be me, and
not some vicious hardcover.

RANDl: True.

(BOTH EXHALING)

This is so exciting.

I mean, I haven't been this
apprehensive about anything since...

Since my first kiss.

Exorcising the books
should be easy.

All we have to do is find the
right passage in the Compendium

and read it aloud.

I'm not talking
about that.

I'm talking about getting rid
of this monster that's inside me.

You'll be the same
woman you were before.

I don't think
that's possible.

I'm changed for life.

The books!

You don't think...

Let's not panic.

Oh!

Let's not panic!

The boxes are probably two
or three streets away, intact.

There is nothing
to worry about.

(MEN SHOUTING)

(WHIMPERS)

(SCREAMING)

(BOTH EXCLAIMING)

MAN: Halt!

On the other hand...

Take aim. Fire!
Oh, God!

(PANTING)

Okay, so I was wrong.

Now what?

We find the
Compendium, fast!

It could be anywhere. It'll
take us months to find it.

Well, think positive.

I'm trying!

(GRUNTS)

You don't make
it very easy.

(SCREAMS)

Lan, is that you
under there?

Your tongue is sharp, Valvert, but
surely it is not as sharp as my sword.

Think. You're lan Matheson,
not Cyrano de Bergerac.

Defend yourself or die!

(PANTING)

Matches! I gotta
find some matches.

(GROANS)

Ow!

A-ha! Match...

Dear Sheriff,
have you lost your way?

A cordial welcome
to Sherwood Forest.

(YELPS)

(EXCLAIMS)

Groveling? Is that any way for the
Sheriff of Nottingham to behave?

I am not the Sheriff of
Nottingham, I am Randi Wallace.

Surely you jest.

En garde!

(GRUNTING)

(LAUGHING)

(MEN SHOUTING)

(SCREAMS)

You're taking all the sport
out of this, Sheriff.

(EXCLAIMS)
No, no.

(LAUGHING)

(GROANS)

(PANTING)

Oh, God, no.

(GASPING)

Randi? Randi!

Randi? Randi.
Lan? Lan?

Randi? Randi. Compendium, Compendium...

We've got to go!
No!

The Compendium,
we've gotta find it.

Forget the book! The
place is burning down!

I can't!

Come on, you're going
to burn to death!

No, let me go!

(COUGHING)

There goes my cure.

You got out alive,
that's what counts.

(COUGHING)

I had such hopes. For a few
moments, I thought I'd be free.

Believe, Randi.
Believe and it'll happen.

I promise you that.

"But in applying
the principles of Lacan,

"we must deconstruct
the image of the Mephisto,

"learn to see it as a universal
signifier in a hermeneutic system,

"rather than as a specific
representation of..."

"As his razor-sharp fangs pierced her
milky white neck, she felt no pain.

"Instead, there was a warmth,
and then a rush of pleasure,

"stronger than
the waves that crashed..."

(FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING)

"A set of signs in which, and of itself,
signifies no more than its own..."

"... purposely baroque and
ultimately meaningless iconography."

I couldn't have
said it better myself.

Thank you!

I was so wrapped up in your
manuscript, I didn't hear you come in.

It's a crime
it won't get published.

Well, you're looking at England's
number one crime-stopper.

The paperback should
be out before Christmas,

and it'll make a great
little stocking filler.

That's wonderful.

Put away the manuscript. We
have some celebrating to do.

You got this much
for that book?

A canny publisher
knows what sells.

Wait a minute here,
what is this?

Satan's Sex Slaves: The Story of
One Woman's Descent Into Perversion?

Well, the publisher
agreed with us.

The book needs some
punching up, and a new title.

Us?
Yes.

Haven't I introduced you
to my co-writer?

How's this?

"Her pulsating breasts heaved

"as the Devil's scaly claws
tore off her lacy bra?"

Fabulous, Aunt Elsa. We'll set
the literary world on its ear.

"'T ake me now, O Lord of
Darkness. Take me now,' she cried."

That's it!

(BOTH LAUGHING)

Well, if you can't
beat 'em, join 'em.

(WHOOPS)

There you go.

Well, then...

Cheers.
Cheers.

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