Original subtitles

A thousand years ago, at sunset, a wise and elegant judge returned

home from court to dine with his young wife in their summer house by the sea.

His steward, a sober and serious man, met him at the door and said, I

went to put away your winter robes in the old cedar wood trunk, sir, and found

your wife had locked it.

I believe there is a man inside it.

Not wishing to contradict the servant he trusted most, the judge confronted his

wife and asked her why she would not let him open the trunk.

Don't you trust me to manage our home as I please, she replied.

The judge feared the worst but decided to face up to it.

So he sent his servant away and asked his wife to give him the key.

Perhaps the trunk held a thief.

Or did it contain a lover?

Or another woman, even?

Or nothing at all?

Holding the key in his hand, the judge considered the trunk through the long

hours of the night.

At dawn, he summoned the strongest members of his entourage and told them,

this trunk is a curse upon our household.

He instructed them to take the trunk to a field some way from the summer house,

and there they dug a deep pit and buried it, unopened.

Later that day, the judge went to a high cliff and threw the key into the

ocean.

a thousand years.

These eyes have been hidden in the blackness of time.

That is to say, a thousand of your years.

But on certain occasions, I have been able to revisit the scenes

of my own brief existence and observe

once again.

the endless struggle of the sexes. I have always felt a certain sympathy

for the more bizarre aspects of human behavior, due, no doubt,

to the peculiar circumstances under which I departed from that struggle.

But who could have predicted the extremities to which mankind,

and more particularly, womankind would go in the pursuit of, shall

we say, satisfaction.

Nevertheless, I find upon my periodic visits to the battlefield that the basic

strategies in this long-fought campaign have altered little.

This young lady, for example, whilst the clothes she is removing are unbecoming

to my eyes, the purpose...

she hopes to achieve, and the tactics she has chosen are as old as Adam.

Still, one must admit that it was wisely chosen.

For on this battlefield, the rules are different.

Not armies grappling with armies, but male with female.

The fruits of victory do not go to the strongest or the cleverest.

As I myself have good cause to know.

Since that first resounding defeat in the Garden of Eden, the male sex

has not yet regained the initiative.

Such seemingly impersonal displays are really suggesting something rather more

direct. For example, imagine you were making love to this girl.

Imagine you were making love to this boy.

Imagine you were making love to this girl.

Imagine you were making love to this boy.

Imagine you...

were making love to this girl.

Imagine you were making love to this boy.

Imagine you were making love to this girl.

Imagine you were making love to this boy.

Imagine you were making love to this girl.

Imagine you were making love to this boy.

Imagine you were making love to this girl.

Imagine. you were making love to this boy.

Imagine this girl was making love to you.

Imagine this boy was making love to you.

Imagine this girl was making love to you.

Imagine this boy was making love to you.

Imagine this girl was making love to you.

Imagine this boy was making love to you.

Imagine this girl.

was making love to you.

Imagine this boy was making love to you.

Imagine this girl was making love to you.

Imagine this boy was making love to you.

Imagine this girl was making love to you.

Imagine the consequences.

Desirable.

and unattainable.

The torment of the damned, whereby the sufferer is alternately aroused

and disappointed.

The promised paradise, where every desire, every fantasy will

be gratified, becomes a torture chamber.

I too once suffered those torments, and the memory remains across the long

centuries.

but promises that are continually denied fulfillment will in the

end turn rotten the provocation cannot last forever

revenge becomes the only answer

Here is something that I beheld.

An episode which shows how some people will go to any lengths to get what they

want.

It wasn't always knights and fair damsels, you know.

I knew quite a bit about how to inflict pain in those days.

Surprising, really, when you knew so little about human physiology.

How long will it take?

You mean the book?

All these big art books, they can take months.

A year, perhaps.

It's up to me how I go about it.

But I'm very fussy about having the right models.

They must look reasonably strong.

But they must be sensitive as well.

Sensitive? Well, intelligent, then.

Generally speaking, the more intelligent a person is, the more they react to

pain.

Although I must admit, the thrill of pain is a very variable and interesting

subject.

There'd be no point in torturing a weakling.

But we're only taking pictures.

Of course.

That's why I chose you.

I wanted an ordinary fellow who was intelligent enough to express pain even

though he'd never experienced it.

it seems an odd subject for a woman.

I mean a book on medieval tortures.

do you know a lot about it?

I just do what I'm commissioned to do you know.

all the same you seem to know a lot about the human body.

what it likes and what it doesn't.

I've studied it from time to time.

One of us may as well be comfortable at any rate.

In the old days, men in the Navy used to be able to survive 200 or 300 lashes.

Of course, sometimes they didn't.

Not many could today.

I often wondered what the reason for that was.

Probably because of anaesthetics.

The pain inflicted during anaesthesia and not consciously experienced is still

recorded by you and can be re-stimulated at a later date.

Such recordings are called engrams. And in a fairly general way, I think, lower

your tolerance to pain.

Tell me, do you find it a little warm in here?

A little.

Too much, perhaps?

Not really.

Good.

I want you on form for our last shot.

I think we can dine before lunch.

Norma, go and get me the Spanish horse.

Is that the one with the weights?

Yes. That's the one with the weights.

It's very important.

It's for the front cover and for the advertisement.

It took me a long time to work out how it should be arranged. Yes, you

explained it to me yesterday.

The one where I'm strung up over a sharp blade.

Charming. With death in an hour.

Two hours, probably.

Though anything can happen.

It was a little uncomfortable, I understand, so I hope you're feeling

athletic. I'll go and watch and change.

Your steed awaits you.

Come on, don't hang about.

This is torture.

Exactly, dear boy.

And furthermore, your expression is beginning to capture the mood

completely.

No!

Practice hard until I'm ready for the shot.

In the meantime, I'll be back after lunch.

It's not dirty.

It's not that clean.

And of course, the lack of choice.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

that they give you as a sample i feel there's something wrong with it i only

like to use the very best quality

I thought we might make a start on another job tomorrow.

Perfect, dear boy.

Quite perfect.

Norma, come and help me.

That's just how I like it, old man.

A terrible death, you would say, as you look at her unique illustrations,

recreated with such pain and loving care by the authoress. And yet, the

agony of a soul mutilated in manhood will continue long after the body has

ceased to bleed.

Scientists in pursuit of knowledge can also inflict anguish, even as in this

case. on those they hold most precious to them.

You... were the star of my party tonight, Marie Claire.

On the contrary, I think I probably annoyed some of your guests. You

outshone them.

The women with your looks, the men with your brains.

And you're not afraid to antagonize people.

I like that.

Even clever women sometimes pretend to be stupid.

My work as a scientist has made me honest.

Your friends only know about making money.

I know about other things.

That's all.

I only know about making money.

Do you despise me as well?

No.

I should like to be rich too.

Now you disappoint me, Mary Clare.

have brains and beauty.

What more does a woman need?

How old-fashioned you can be, Sasha.

The days are gone when a woman can rely on being pretty and gay and witty to get

her on in the world.

Your wife was like that, Sasha, wasn't she?

Where is she now?

Besides, I have responsibilities, the responsibilities of a man.

Your mother?

Yes.

How is she?

She has a disease.

A disease that will get worse, more ugly, more demanding and more expensive.

It is called a degenerative disease, and that describes it exactly.

The degeneration of a human being.

But with your brains and training, you can make money.

Enough, I mean, to ease the burdens and... How naive you are, Sasha.

Your brains make money.

Mine don't.

What interests you exactly, Sasha?

I've been your lover now for nearly six months, and yet, in a way, I know hardly

anything about you.

The house in which my mother and I live is palatial, more than enough for us.

Yet, three months ago, it was teeming with poor families.

You cleared the way.

We go to fashionable clubs and restaurants together, and there's always

a table waiting for you.

Everywhere you go, the path is cleared for you.

Or is it you who has already cleared the path?

You didn't ask so many questions when you and your mother moved into your new

home. No, I'm not interested in your business activities.

That's understood.

But I am interested to know that they are not enough for you.

You want something else.

What is it?

A head of Sandman's.

He was killed.

Yes, I know. He was killed in a car accident.

My wife was driving.

She killed him.

It was an accident.

Oh, yes, yes, of course.

An accident.

But you could have had more children.

Has it happened?

No.

Now, shall we change the subject?

But you could have had a child. Could have had a child?

Could have had a child?

Don't you think I'd have given...

Everything I own to have a child.

After my son was killed, I was too old to have more children.

I've been cheated and robbed of the only thing I ever really wanted.

A child.

A son.

I'm probably insulting you, Mary Claire.

But for me, women are just the vehicle for the most important thing in a man's

life.

His son.

Don't apologize.

It's quite a scientific point of view.

But you can still have a son.

At my age?

At 68?

You're laughing at me.

Yes, I'm laughing at you.

Didn't you know that a man of 70 can be as fertile as a boy of 20?

For a woman, it's different.

Her fertility starts to decline after the age of 30.

You men are very lucky.

Well? It's perfectly possible.

I thought everybody knew the facts.

Well, I... I don't have time to read every medical paper, so to keep abreast,

I'm a busy man.

Besides, I don't want... Anything to go wrong again.

What should go wrong?

I don't know.

Anyway, tell me how many men of 70 become fathers.

Most men of 70 don't want to. And usually they have wives who are too old.

But in my case?

Oh, now you are laughing at me.

In your case, dear Sasha?

In your case?

I should say everything was possible.

And I say that as a woman and a scientist.

So you're going to leave us, Marie Claire, and at such an interesting time.

At what time is this?

For five years now, I've been working on the blood groups of mice, rats, and

monkeys. And so far, my findings have not benefited the human race to the

extent of one single aspirant. You know very well, Mary Claire, how long it

takes to establish any research program, especially in the case of genetics.

So much depends on luck and chance.

A paper has just been published in America which ties in exactly with the

blood groupings you have been dealing with.

Look.

Read it.

But this concerns... The very disease your own mother suffers from.

But it shows a hereditary factor.

Yes, we've always suspected it. But this shows exactly how the defective gene

works.

From these conclusions, it is almost certain that the gene first chose

deterioration in the female, as in your mother's case.

and is finally transmitted to the male line in the form of serious malformation

at birth.

And the hereditary disposition?

Well, as you know, you yourself are perfectly normal.

And, of course, the defective gene has the habit of skipping a generation.

It may disappear entirely from the female line.

Marie Claire, are we discussing this on a personal or a professional level?

Professional, of course, Dr. Oak.

Naturally, I'm interested to know the link between the blood groupings that

I've been working on and the disease that we are now discussing.

In your opinion, what exactly are the risks of producing a congenital

malformation in the third generation?

I mean, if I had a child.

Well, they can be calculated.

Firstly, they would only affect a male child.

This makes it 50-50.

And then?

The chances of a male child being affected are very high.

Almost one in three, it seems.

Altogether, a woman with this factor in her background would do better to avoid

having children.

You see, Marie Claire, why are you leaving us?

This research could help establish your name.

It could open the field to many future programmes.

And how much will that be worth? To me, I mean.

Another 500 a year, perhaps.

That is, if the department doesn't need some more expensive equipment.

No, Dr Rilke.

I am leaving in order to get married.

Oh, my dear child.

What can I say?

Dr Rilke, my fiancé will be coming here soon to collect me.

When you see him, you will have no need to say anything at all.

There you are.

Dr. Rilke, I'd like you to meet Mr. Sasha Saramona, my fiancée.

How do you do, Dr. Rilke?

Mary Clare has spoken to me of you.

How very flattering.

I sometimes wonder if she ever takes my mental image picture beyond that door

over there.

I can assure you she does.

Come, Mary Clare.

Good night to you, Dr. Rilke. I hope we shall have the pleasure of meeting one

another again.

Good night, Dr. Rilke.

And have you received the result of your test yet? They tell me that my virility

is the equivalent of that of a man in his 30s.

You are concerned for Mary Clare, no doubt.

Do not be too unhappy for her.

The child will only live a few days at most.

It's a terrible thing to happen to any mother.

But Mary Clare is also a scientist.

She knew the risk she was taking.

She knew?

Of course.

It was almost the last thing we discussed in the laboratory.

The next skirmish in this battle of the sexes takes place in a dwelling near a

vast barren field.

Here, day and night, the great flying machines circle and descend, shriek and

scream, filling the air with their fearful cry.

That performance of Berlioz's Carnival Romain Overture by the International

Studio Orchestra came from Hamburg.

Our next program is a personal impression of the Kensington Flower

Show, which opens to the public tomorrow.

The speaker is Dame Henrietta Ilford Bobbin, better known as the columnist

Caroline of that matter.

The talk was recorded earlier today at the Flower Show.

is the only word for the display of the cloud show this year.

Christ, a bird.

Just a minute. What do you want to do a thing like that for? You can deal with a

girl, can't you?

Now, you wouldn't want to call the police, would you?

Oh, wouldn't I? Why not?

Because... because they'd only spoil our fun.

That's why.

Do you have a bathroom?

Why?

Because I got a bit dirty downstairs and I'd like to go and wash.

Over there, behind you.

several flowering red currant bushes from her estate in Lons Norton Green.

I was invited to pluck some of the fruit myself and taste the firm, juicy flesh

that always comes as such a surprise from so decorative a bush.

In a small annex next door is a special section of carnivorous plants, very

popular with the younger visitors.

I saw the Honorable Timothy Noteworthy.

Six-year-old heir to the Earl of Warder. Quite absorbed by a sundew plant.

It was catching and devouring the unfortunate creatures that flitted past.

Timothy was accompanied by his elder sister, the lovely Lady Patricia.

Lady Patricia, formerly Lord Patrick, gave me a fascinating account of her...

his recent operation in Denmark.

His... her...

a engagement to the brilliant young film producer peter walking was announced

last week and i hear that her fiance has offered her the leading role in his new

film whatever turns you on baby a complete contrast is the old world

english garden in the albion pavilion here one is transported back to the

fairy tale enchantments of childhood and

I almost think I saw a fairy or two slipping through the dreaming shadowy

glades.

Perhaps my favourite old English flower is the evening primrose, opening at dusk

and staying sensibly closed during the day.

My companion, the Dowager Marchioness of Pines... I don't expect you to believe a

word I say, but I can stand anything except being dirty.

The Dowager, Marchioness, who, since the death of her husband, has devoted

herself to animal welfare.

I don't believe a word you say.

But if you must clean up, have some very exclusive lemon and cucumber soap.

My wife orders it from the health food stall.

Smells good.

Even tastes good.

Go ahead, then, baby.

Eat me up.

Of course, these luscious tropical growths do require a great deal of

water. and consequently the atmosphere is rather torrid. It's cold!

A constant downpour is essential to continued growth and development.

And my word how they respond to it. I swear you can almost feel them sucking

in the moisture in great thirsty gulps.

I always look forward to the display of mimosa, such a variety, and awakening so

many lovely memories.

One of my young acquaintances pointed out a specimen that I had not seen

hitherto.

If you touch one of the end leaflets, all the other leaflets close together,

one after the other, until the whole leaf is folded.

Finally, the stalk itself turns slowly downwards, shrinks, and withdraws from

contact. The whole performance had a...

and effect upon my young acquaintance, who remained there for several hours,

wrapped in silent attention.

The cactus house is never short of admirers, and no wonder.

For here, nature demonstrates the extraordinary diversity possible within

the familiar cycle of seed, fruit, and flower.

The succulent stem of these hardy desert woes...

protected by sharp spines and crowned with coarsely perfumed flowers, reminds

us that, as so often in life, the struggle to win through is richly

rewarded.

One of the judges in this section is that popular hostess, Lady Gwendolyn

Blight.

wondered if her great love of cacti is not in some measure due to the many

years she spent

Are you in trouble?

I'll be back in a second

Be

good

I'm entitled to some return for my night's work, aren't I?

You got it, didn't you?

Now what are you going to do? Call the police.

What I should have done in the first place.

You've left that a bit late, haven't you?

Ah, yes.

Yes. Yes, I really think you have.

What would the police make of a case where the wicked burglar was invited in

to take a shower, provided with clean towels and cucumber soap?

And even more important, invited into bed.

That, of course, can be proved.

I don't think they'll believe your story.

But on the other hand... your wife might.

She looks a very serious-minded woman to me.

Your epoch has brought great confusion to the sex war.

Life is so steeped in fantasy that it ceases to have reality.

Agent 28, this is your first assignment. All your predecessors have failed.

Get the defense detail of the Yellow River project.

They keep it at the Moranian embassy.

But how do I get inside the embassy?

Ask our man Phil Potts. He's resourceful and full of ideas.

The eyes of our enemies are everywhere.

To mislead them, we must pretend we are just friends.

And at no time must we give the impression we are conducting business.

How very clever.

We'll discuss things in the cinema.

How am I doing? Do you think people suspect we're secret agents in

conference? You're doing swell, baby. Keep it up.

Create the right public image.

You really think it's necessary to keep up the image here inside your flat?

Absolutely essential, baby.

Absolutely essential.

But how am I going to get into the marine universe?

I thought of a way to get in.

Use that invitation they sent us for their gala reception.

Be careful.

All your predecessors have failed in this job.

Tell me, Lady Witherspoon, is Lord S. still after live Boy Scouts?

Well, he must have his little hobbies, you know. Well, mustn't we all, after

all? It's the joy of life. I'll swap you the Warsaw Pact amendments for the

forestal nuclear strike power.

You would?

After breakfast.

Control yourself, Boris.

You're not a member of the CIA anymore.

I like to dance with pretty dollies.

Who are you?

I'm your host, the ambassador, but you can call me what you like.

For a moment, I thought I'd come to the wrong place.

It was difficult to imagine anything important being handled by these

doddering old lunatics.

Excuse me, sir, or madam.

Have you seen a dolly boat so high with bedroom eyes and breasts like resilient

sand dunes?

Kill lost, kid!

Where have you been all my life, my darling? Darling.

Who are you, creep?

I am Fritz, the military attache.

As I said, what an interesting face.

So manly, so appealing, so soothing, so wild.

Why am I cursed with this instant sex allure?

So manly and so wow.

Another little drink and she can't say no, no more.

I can see the safe.

Time he took the pill.

Sleep well, sweet jerk.

Now for the secrets in the safe.

Man, it's this heavy.

I bet it's chock-a-block with top secrets.

Ha! Little does she know I never swallowed ze pill.

Boy, who are you?

Welcome. You must be Agent 28.

How did you know?

I am Agent 27.

We are all here, don't you, Number One?

That military attaché wasn't so stupid after all.

The deepest wounds often lie beneath the surface.

And a crippled sensibility, like a crippled limb, has need of artificial

aids. The fantasies evoked by these unnatural passions

are still capable of fulfillment.

An appetite to be satisfied, like any other. Necessity, however,

can make curious bedfellows.

Hello. Do you have girls?

Oh, you do? All kinds.

Well, I'd like a nice one, please.

Age? I'm 19, but I only look 29.

I have dark hair. I do not wear glasses.

Blue eyes, and I'm clean.

Six foot two.

I've got all my own teeth.

Oh, I see. The girl's age.

Well, the girl, as long as she's sweet and she likes the sort of things I do,

she must like pets.

and petting.

Yes,

I'm a visitor.

When do I want her?

Right now.

There's no one free.

Well, what do I do then?

You?

Sit down, Pigeon.

Put out your mitt and close your eyes and you will get a groovy surprise.

Shut your eyes.

Your mitt, stupid.

Surprise, surprise.

Big spender.

That's my usual.

Thank you.

You'll get twice that when you leave.

I want to see what I'm doing.

All right, then, pigeon.

You'll see.

I called them up for a girl, and they sent me one.

And she's here.

I'm very fashionable.

I telephoned for a girl, and they sent me a girl, and here she is. And she's

beautiful. And I love her. And oh, boy. Oh, boy. Oh, boy.

Oh,

boy. Oh,

everybody. Everybody. All of them.

That's nice.

That's...

Oh, oh!

My contact lens has dropped among your charms.

Here it is.

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay, okay.

It's very fashionable.

It's very, very fashionable. We're being very, very, very in today.

Expensive, groovy reptile called pangolin.

Pangolin steinicus.

Now, look, cutie, we're living in a permissive society.

It's very permissive and swinging and groovy, and why don't you permit

yourself just once with Pangy and me? You don't have to go near him, you don't

have to touch him, you don't have to do anything with him. I just want him

around because I like him and I feel comfy when he's here.

And I'll make it worth your pretty while.

Not for all the coffee in China.

Well, peace, Pange, peace and love.

No.

Listen, it's fashionable, too.

The last time I was in New York, everybody, everybody was doing it. The

girls had them. They were walking around with them.

They were going to the discotheques with him.

They were singing and dancing with him. They were having a marvelous time.

Everybody was doing it. In the post of June 11th, there was this ad.

It said, modern family wishes, broad-minded pangolin

as a mascot.

Now, you've heard of wife swapping. They have lizard swapping in addition to it.

Everything. Everybody's doing everything. It's groovy. Now, stay.

Stay. Stay. Come on. You're out of your mind. I'll miss you. Stay.

Nobody's any sense would... Please, stay.

Nobody's any sense would get near that thing.

Look, I don't want to know. I just don't want to know.

Even if the Financial Times said it was the grooviest thing, I don't want to

know. You're a nice guy. I like...

The Financial Times.

The Financial Times.

I'll write a letter to the Financial Times.

To the editor.

They'll understand me.

Besides, it's very fashionable.

The last time I was in the States, all the girls had them in the discotheques.

Biddy-byes. Biddy-byes. Biddy-byes now.

Biddy-byes.

There is a widely held belief that when a man dies, his soul can enter a tree

or flower, there to rest for a brief while before being reborn and

once more taking up the struggle.

But even in this paradise, there is a serpent.

You may be new here, Jeremy, but you'll soon learn.

Very quickly, madam.

Very quickly.

As you are well aware, Jeremy, people don't live in bodies on every planet as

we do.

All those little souls, on a clear day, you can see them with a naked eye across

a clear blue sky.

Oh, they're so easy to trap.

They're all looking for wounds, all looking for wounds like mad. It makes

them feel so comfortable.

Wounds, madam?

I might as well tell you, Jeremy.

I shouldn't, you know, but I told your predecessor, and nothing happened to him

or to me, for that matter, although I'd been warned.

Anyway, there are four kinds of birth, Jeremy.

Birth in the womb, birth in an egg, supernormal birth, and birth

in heat and moisture.

sweet life could be.

Monte, Biarritz, Deauville, Montand, and

Monte Carlo.

And all those gorgeous young men.

All those tables.

The hours, the years I spent at those tables.

Francois Andre.

The garlands.

Do you know, Jeremy, I could make those tables do anything I wanted.

To someone else, that is.

But then... I ruined 17 men

at those tables.

And not one of them knew.

Not at least until it was too late.

And now...

I've got them exactly where I want them.

But, madam... Oh, yes, Jeremy. As I was saying, all

those souls floating about, come over here and have a look through my

little window.

Look.

Jeremy, I'll show you.

I can always see them.

Conjure them up into the flesh and blood of their adorable, lovely and also

human bodies.

Oh, I just love young people.

You see, when you die, Jeremy, your soul is released from your body.

The actual you that is you.

And you usually start feeling terrible at once.

Good heavens, where am I? What am I doing, you say to yourself?

I'm dead.

No body.

And of course, you...

start rushing round desperately looking for a new one.

And the way you're attracted towards a new body is quite terrifying.

Of course, it's all a big trick.

The fear, I mean.

But you are not to know that.

You will find that in your rovings in space, you will be confronted by males

and... Females making love.

You, in desperation, see your chance.

Directing yourself between them, you get into your new body as the sperm and the

ovum are about to unite.

And it's then that the soul faints.

Yes, Jeremy.

Quite literally faints away into un... consciousness as it pops

into the embryo of its new body.

You see, Jeremy, all those twinkling, sparkling souls all cluster round

when they see a man and woman in union.

That's what they call it.

In that wandering, bodiless period, you will be a tacked on all sides by

terrible spirits and horrifying realities which are all illusion

and vanish when they are confronted, if they are confronted.

So remember, be not attracted nor repulsed. Be not attracted nor

repulsed. Look!

Here are the souls now.

In they pop at the climax.

Watch carefully, Jeremy.

You will see how one pops in at the climax.

Watch for the winning soul.

Or perhaps I should say the losing soul.

Oops, Jeremy.

You see?

Quite easy.

Cast iron and...

in fact absolutely irresistible, all waiting to lose

consciousness and get themselves born again.

Of course, it's a bit tricky getting into the right womb, I mean.

You might end up as a caterpillar, or a sheep, or in some terribly

unsatisfactory climate, or something.

Jeremy, I'm going to let you into a little secret.

I trapped all my lover's souls into these plants here, all 17 of

them. Of course, I was using the moisture and heat method.

Required a little extra effort on my part, but at least I really know

exactly... where they are.

I've got them right under my thumb.

There's Juan and the Haltington boy.

Oh, Chinese Samuel, the nouveau riche diamond merchant from New York's

delicious Chinatown. Of course, I've never been to America.

And the young Lord Newington.

What has happened to Timothy Starbuck today?

He's looking very miserable.

And Teddy Allworth.

He wasn't so strong, even at the best of times.

And Guy Debord, such a divine boy.

And then there was Anthony Attick. Oh, he was a lovely lad.

He had the most magnificent... Well, never mind.

And there were others, too.

Some with gorgeous faces and ghastly lives.

whose names I can't remember even.

Actually, there was one whose face I never saw.

It was the night of the masked ball in 1935, I

think. Or was it?

Didn't work with the heat and moisture method because I simply didn't get a

chance to know enough about him.

I think it must have been.

Now, let me see.

19... 35, you filthy alien garbage heap.

This misappropriation of men's souls is a very serious crime.

goes on.

But the decisive encounter, the final rout of the enemy, never takes place.

Why? Poised for a massacre, the army is suddenly disarmed.

The antagonists are trapped in an irresistible embrace.