All language subtitles for S01E10 Gaudy Night; Episode Three IMDB 8.0

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If a man
will begin with certainties,

he shall end in doubts.

But if he will be content
to begin with doubts,

he shall end in certainties.

Man that is borne of a woman

hath but a short time to live
and is full of misery.

He cometh up,
and is cut down like a flower.

He fleeth as if
it were a shadow...

God! You did give me
a fright, miss.

Carrie! What on earth is it?

There's somebody in
one of the lecture rooms.

Annie Wilson sent me
to fetch you.

We didn't want to
knock on the door

for fear of waking the place.

Sorry if I startled
you. That's all right.

Did you manage
to see who it was?

I couldn't quite make out
through the curtain who it was.

Which lecture room?
Science, miss.

Annie's gone to fetch the Dean.

Right.

Did the person know
he or she had been seen?

I don't think so, miss.
We were ever so quiet.

How was it first noticed?

Annie heard someone
in the buttery...

one of the undergrads
after some milk and sugar.

I remember doing exactly
the same thing myself.

And she saw
the lights on over here.

There's a key on the inside...

you can't see nothing.

Damn!

Is this the only way out?

Yes. All the windows
have got bars.

Right. Shine the torch.

Be careful, miss!

There is another way out!

Oh, yes.
I forgot the darkroom.

Oh, heavens!

Oh, hell!

I'm sorry, miss.

It's all right, Carrie.

We couldn't have got
'round here in time, anyway.

What, has the culprit got away?

I'm afraid so, yes.

Could you tell me
what's below this window?

It's a flagstone path.

I don't think you'll
find very much down there.

No. And it happens
to be a spot

that's overlooked
by absolutely nothing.

So...

This is where it's done.

I wonder why.

It does seem
unnecessarily public.

It's best not to touch
anything. Sorry.

You're not thinking
of calling the police?

No. Not the police.

Ah. Yes, of course.

Now, Carrie...
you said you saw something.

What exactly was it?

As I said, miss,
I think I saw something,

but I was in a bit of a fluster.

I thought it was a woman.

She had something black on.

But you didn't see her face?

She was sitting with
her back to the door.

All right, you two can go.

Mrs. Martin and I
will see to things.

Good night.
Good night, miss,

Do you know what I'd like to do?

I'd like to leave
everything as it is,

lock up, keep the key,

and in the morning,
get a second opinion.

Yes. Yes, of course.

I should be most interested
to know what he makes of this.

Am I really going to see
fingerprints discovered?

But of course.

They won't actually
tell us anything,

but they inspire confidence,
you know,

and... impress the spectator.

There you are, you see?

Oh! So many!

A mess of fingerprints.

How inveterate is the habit
of catching hold of a door

when one opens it!

Hence the old-fashioned
institution of the finger plate.

I shall need a chair.

Oh, thank you, Miss Vane.

I didn't actually
mean you to bring it.

Surely you don't
expect to find them

so high up?

Nothing would surprise me more.

This is merely
a shop window display

of thoroughness and efficiency.

Purely routine,
as the policemen say.

Good heavens...

Your college is kept
remarkably well dusted.

Congratulations.

Finished in
the dark room, Bunter?

Yes, m'Lord.
Made three exposures.

Ought to do.

You might dust off this door.

Certainly.

We will now bend
our straining eyes

and do the same thing
for this door.

You see,

even if we did identify

all of these fingerprints...

They'd only turn out
to belong to people

who have a perfect right
to be here.

In any case,

like anybody else these days,

our culprit probably
knows enough to wear gloves.

Fewer fingerprints... as you see.

Top of the door...
Equally well dusted.

Hmm.

Which is more than can be said

for this windowsill.

Still, there's always something
gets left out, isn't there?

Made a bit of a meal
of the exit.

Hmm.

Miss Vane?
Yes?

Something worries you
about this room.

What is it?

You don't need to be told.

No, I'm quite sure
our two hearts beat as one.

But tell miss Martin.

Well...

When the...

let's call her "she,"

since Annie Wilson
believes it's a woman...

when she turned out the light,

she must have been
standing next to that door.

She then made her escape
through the darkroom.

So the mystery is,

how, after that,

did she manage to
knock over the blackboard,

which was standing
quite out of the line

of the two doors?

Oh, that's nothing.

I can remember my
reading lamp fused one night.

I got up to turn on
the wall switch,

and I ended up with my nose
against the wardrobe.

Hmm. Ah.

The chill of common sense
falls on our conjectures

like ice cold water
on hot glass...

And shatters them to bits.

I don't believe it.

We are saying, aren't we,

that the board fell down
after the light went out?

That's right, yes.

In that case, she only had to
switch out the light

and then grope her way
along this wall.

She must have had a reason

for groping back
into the middle of the room.

Perhaps she'd left something
on the table,

something that
incriminated her...

a handkerchief, used
to press the letters down.

Perhaps.

"Vain Vane...

"You will never get me

you"...

"you" what?

Is this is the first time
you've been so honoured?

The first time since...
The first time.

"You"...

We'll never know, will we?

Here are only "s"s,
"q"s, "p"s, zeds,

and other such useless
and unhelpful consonants.

Difficult to know how
the letter was meant to end.

What puzzles me is,

why did she
use this room at all?

There's the mystery.

Excuse me, m'Lord.

I think this may contribute
to our enquiries.

Bunter...

Good heavens.

This is like a leaf
out of a forgotten story.

Does anybody use these things?

Lots of people.

Little buns are coming back...

buns in the nape of the neck.

I use them myself,
but mine are bronze.

I know who uses
black ones this shape.

Of course.
Miss Devine!

Always the white queen.

And she would drop them
all over the place.

But she is one of
the few members of the college

who would never use the darkroom

or consult scientific works.

And of course,

we don't know that
this one is hers.

Perhaps Miss Vane
could get miss Devine

to identify it.

And perhaps miss Devine

might volunteer
some information.

Well. I think
this lecture room

offers no further scope
for research.

Well, in that case,

please excuse me.

I should have loved to have
shown you 'round the college,

Lord Peter.

But alas, so much to do

and so little time
in which to do it.

It is the lot of man.

And of woman, too.

We shall meet at dinner.

M'Lord, since we have
the almost unique facility

of a darkroom at hand,

shall I set about
developing the film immediately?

Splendid.

Do take care.

What do you mean?

Well, these amazing events...

getting knocked down
in the chapel,

and now this message.

You... you by name...

have become a challenge
to this person.

Could be dangerous,
all I'm saying.

Um...

You haven't forgotten
that yesterday

you seemed prepared to accept

a somewhat less
dangerous challenge.

By no means.

I shall come dressed for combat.

Half an hour, Magdalen bridge.

Oh... you might bring your notes.

Well, I'll say this

for the writing of
detective fiction...

you certainly know how to
put your story together...

How to lay out the evidence.

I say, Holmes,

that's terribly decent of you.

Nevertheless,

I can't say that
it suggests to me

the faintest glimmer
of a motive.

A motive only
too painfully obvious.

Not to me.

The sexual overtones...

The obscenity of
some of the things.

Ah... the Freudian view.

The effects of sexual abstinence
on the human psyche.

We could both of us

deliver a thesis
on that subject.

Don't people the cloisters
with bogies, Harriet,

just because you've set
your mind to a spot of celibacy.

We're not talking about
me and my feelings.

We're talking about this
beastly case in the college.

But you can't keep
your feelings out of the case.

I admit, I am finding it hard
to see things clearly.

What is it, Harriet?

I feel like Judas, Peter,

allowing you in on the case.

Siding with London
against Oxford,

the world against the cloister.

Feeling like Judas
is part of the job.

I've always known
it's no job for a gentleman.

Nor a lady, it would seem.

Well...

Shall we wash our hands
like Pontius Pilate

and become
thoroughly respectable?

No, we're both in it for now.
We'll be degraded together.

That'll be nice.

Like those decadent lovers
in the von Stroheim film.

Ha ha ha!

I was beginning to think

that almost any of them
might be capable of it.

And you calmly stood by
and allowed me to accept

their invitation to dinner.

Look, leave your book with me

and I'll see if it
sparks anything off.

Who knows?

I might even come up with
that good, old-fashioned

pre-Freudian motive.

Good Lord...

d'you know,

I'll swear those are
the self-same ducks

that I fed here 23 years ago.

Ten years ago,

I, too, fed them
to bursting point.

You're probably not
especially interested

in all this question
of women's education.

Is it still a question?
It ought not to be.

Even here in Oxford,

there are those for whom
it remains very much one.

Hence the particular need
for circumspection,

Lord Peter.

I do see that.

And I fondly supposed I was
returning to civilization

when I came back here.

Actually, Carlyle should have
added women's education

to his three great elements
of modern civilization.

I don't think
I know that, warden.

Gunpowder, printing,
and the protestant religion?

You are extensively read,
Lord Peter.

A facility for quotation

covers the absence
of original thought.

I think you are
excessively modest!

The apt quotation is no mere
intellectual sleight of hand...

it's a form of wisdom.

The only kind of wisdom
that has any social use

is the knowledge
of one's own limitations.

Not something that
young dons and students

are very ready to admit to!

Thereby showing themselves
less wise than Socrates

who made the admission
fairly frequently.

For heaven's sake, please...

don't bring Socrates
into the conversation.

Lord Peter, I'm ashamed of you!

One should always bring
Socrates into the conversation,

if for no other reason than that
he was a seeker of the truth.

As I presume, in your line,
you are, too.

I stand reproached.

Please, bring Socrates
into the conversation

as much as you like.

Isn't there a problem
of definition

when it comes to truth?

They seem to be getting on
rather well over there.

Miss Pyke likes an audience.

Well, it's good for a man
to do the listening sometimes.

Yes, I suppose so.

By the way, Lord Peter tells me

that he can obtain access for me

to some private collections
of historical documents

in Florence.

Do you suppose
he means what he said?

If he says so,

you can be sure he can and will.

That is a testimonial.
I'm very glad to hear it.

...as choices.

The other day I heard
the unfortunate story

of an artist of genius,
a married man,

whose work is so original

that it brings in
very little money.

Now, there's a choice...

should he change his style
and paint potboilers,

or fulfill his genius
and let his family starve?

Oh, it's very clear...
he must cease painting.

He mustn't paint potboilers...
that would be immoral.

Well, if you can't
agree about painters,

make it someone else...
a scientist.

I've no objection
to scientific potboilers.

I mean, a popular book
isn't necessarily unscientific.

So long as it doesn't
falsify the facts.

But it might be
a different kind of thing.

To take a concrete example,

someone wrote a novel
called the quest.

Oh, yes, T.H. Black.
I never read it.

Oh, I did.

It's about a man who starts out
to be a scientist

and gets on very well,

till just as he's going
to be appointed

to an important executive post,

he discovers that
he's made a careless error

in a scientific paper.

He doesn't get the job...
somebody finds out.

So he decides

he doesn't really care
about science after all.

Obviously not.
He only cared about the post.

But if it were only a mistake...

the point is what an elderly
colleague says to him.

He tells him that
the only principle

that has made science possible
is the ethical one

that the truth must be told
at all times,

and if we do not penalize
false statements made in error,

then we open up the way

for false statements
made by intent.

And the falsification of fact
made by intent

is the most serious crime
that a scientist can commit.

That, uh, is the gist
of the thing, anyway,

I may not be quoting accurately.

Well, nothing could
possibly excuse

deliberate falsification.

It sounds anyway
like a manufactured case.

It could seldom happen,
and if it did...

oh, it happens...
it happened to me.

Happened to you, miss Devine?

Yes. To me.

Is it possible to...

oh, I don't mind telling you.

Without names, of course.

When I was at
Flamborough college,

examining for
the professorial thesis

in Ripon university,

there was a man who sent in
a very interesting paper

on a historical subject.

It was a most persuasive
piece of argument,

but I happened to know
that the whole contention

was quite untrue,

because a document...
a letter, as it so happened...

that absolutely contradicted it

was actually in existence

in a certain
very obscure library

in a foreign town.

I had come across it when I was
reading something there.

That wouldn't
have mattered, of course,

but the internal evidence showed

that the man must have
had access to that library.

So I had to make an enquiry,

and I found
he really had been there

and must have seen the letter

and deliberately suppressed it.

But how could you be so sure
he had seen the letter?

He might carelessly
have overlooked it.

And that would be
a completely different matter.

He not only had seen it,
he stole it.

We made him admit as much.

He had come upon the letter

when his thesis
was nearly complete

and he had no time
to rewrite it.

But apart from that,

he had grown so enamoured
of his own theory,

he couldn't bear to give it up.

That's the mark
of an unsound scholar,

I'm afraid.

But here's the curious thing...

he was unscrupulous enough to
let the false conclusion stand,

but too good a historian
to destroy the letter.

He kept it.

You'd think it would
be as painful

as biting on a sore tooth.

What happened to him?

Oh, that was the end of him.

He lost the professorship,
naturally,

and they took away
his M.A., as well.

A pity, because he was
brilliant, in his own way.

Poor man.

He must have needed
the post very badly.

Yes. Meant a great deal
to him financially.

He was married,
and not very well off.

So where is he now?

I've no idea.

About six years ago
he disappeared completely.

One was sorry about it,
of course,

but there it was.

You couldn't possibly
have done anything else.

You'd think it would have been
a lesson to him...

it didn't pay, did it?

Say he sacrificed
his professional honor

for these women and children
we hear so much about...

in the end,
it left him much worse off.

But that was only because
he had committed the extra sin

of being found out.

It seems to me...

Yes?

Well, oughtn't
the women and children

to have a point of view?

I mean, supposing the wife
had known her husband

had done such a thing for her...

what would she feel about it?

That's a very important point.

She'd probably feel
too ghastly for words.

It depends... I don't believe
nine out of ten women

would give a dash!

That's a monstrous thing to say!

Well, ask Mrs. Bones,
the butcher's wife,

or miss tape,
the tailor's daughter,

how much they'd worry about
suppressing a moldy old fact

from an historical thesis.

We are most positive
this evening, aren't we, Dean?

Yes, I suppose we are.

Lord Peter, I do apologize

for the way we have all
been clacking on

about intellectual integrity

in such an unwomanly fashion.

Not at all... I'm in your debt.

I'm having the most, um,

stimulating
and instructive evening.

Just a minute.

Come in.

Hello, Carrie.
Good morning, miss.

Padgett asked me
to give you this.

What is it?

Padgett said it'd been
left at the lodge

and you was to get it
as soon as possible.

All right, Carrie.
Thank you.

"Harriet... forgive me.

"I've gone to see
a man about a dog.

"Could you speak
to Dr. Baring?

"Luncheon tomorrow?

Your servant, Peter."

Well, thank you very much.

But where is the man,
and what is the dog?

Ripon?!

He would say no more

than that is was
the merest speculation,

but that it related to hairpins.

I do hope that makes sense.

Barely, warden.

I suspect Lord Peter of
having a taste for mischief.

Anyway, he wants... and I quote...

"hairpins to telephone
the Grand Hotel, Ripon.

Clearly a coded message.

Will you attend to his
arcane instructions, Miss Vane?

I shall, warden.

That, uh...

Practiced air of inanity
he is pleased to adopt

conceals a sharp intellect,
does it not seem to you?

I certainly hope so, warden.

Miss Devine, miss?

You've just missed her,
she's gone up to London.

Oh, damn!

When do you expect her back?

She'll be up there
all day, miss.

I know she's got a lecture
at king's in the strand

this evening.

I'd say not till ten
at the earliest.

Ohh!

Can I do anything, miss?

No, Padgett, thanks.

I had a message for her,
that's all.

You could leave a note
on the board, miss,

except that she
might not see it.

No...

No, I may catch her later
in her room.

Very good, miss.

Help me!

Let me out!

It's Annie!

It's Annie Wilson,
I've been attacked!

Let me out!

Help!!!

Help!!!

Thank you.
I enjoyed that.

Music for a while
doth all your cares beguile,

don't you know.

Besides, I thought

I ought to give thanks
to someone

for the fact
that you're not dead yet.

I'm feeling quite remorseful
today, don't you know.

If you're reproaching yourself

for what happened to
me last night, please don't.

You warned me...
I acted foolishly.

That's all there is
to be said about it.

If you really want to
make me feel better,

stop being so mysterious
and tell me

what you've been up to in Ripon.

Ah...

that's quite a story.

It was, in fact,

only the beginning of my, uh,

hot pursuit to find
one Arthur Robinson, M.A.

Not a name that
means anything to you,

I imagine?
Not at all.

Nor to me, until I prized it

out of a somewhat reluctant
miss Devine after dinner.

It was, of course,

her story that
set me on the track.

It being the first evidence

that there might be someone
who had a grudge

against a member
of this college.

So, three counties

and as many
driving summonses later,

I think I know who
our poltergeist is.

I see.

I hope you're not suggesting
that Arthur Robinson is here,

hiding in this college,

or that miss Hilliard

is that very gentleman
in disguise?

Nothing so droll, I'm afraid.

Arthur Robinson is dead.

What a pity.

He was, however, not unrelated.

Yes. Didn't miss Devine
say he was married?

And therein lies
the heart of the matter.

Peter...

I'm beginning to have an idea,
but I don't believe...

there's a lot more to be said.

But first,

we must allay the fears
of the senior common room.

I think a meeting
over tea is indicated.

But I was disinclined
to look on these outrages

as the outcome of repressions
of the kind

which sometimes are associated
with the celibate life

and result in irrational malice.

So, starting with
Miss Vane's invaluable data,

I began to define...

with all the confidence
of a Johnny-come-lately...

a rational motive.

Highly significant were
the anti-scholastic bias

and the destruction
of miss Barton's book,

with its attack
on the contention

that woman's first
and only place is in the home.

Finally, I realized that
this rational motive

had as its basis some injury,

amounting, in X's mind,
to murder.

Now, the outrages
began just after

miss Devine arrived here
to take up her appointment.

Miss Devine will forgive me
when I say

obviously I had to discover
whether miss Devine had, indeed,

murdered or injured anyone.

And over a very
interesting conversation

during dinner at high table,

miss Devine revealed
the relevant incident.

Arthur Robinson.

Do you mean that
all that discussion

was intended to
bring out that story?

I offered an opportunity
for its appearance.

Proof positive, as it turns out,

that there is no devil on earth

like that of devoted love.

Let me tell you a little bit

about poor Arthur Robinson...

He had a brilliant
academic mind,

he was the winner of

the Jules Michelet
memorial prize

for European history,

and was disgraced, as we know,

by the then-provost
of Flamborough college

and head of the university
appointments board...

your own research fellow...
miss Devine.

Arthur Robinson was married.

While at Oxford,

he had married
the daughter of his landlady,

Charlotte Ann Clark,

and they had two children.

After his disgrace,
he changed his name

and took to drink.

He obtained a post, sadly,

as a junior master
at a minor prep school,

but he was dismissed
for drunkenness.

By now he was an alcoholic,

and he sold their furniture
to buy drink,

though it wasn't his to sell,

because they'd moved into
furnished lodgings.

One day Arthur Robinson decided
that he'd done enough harm

to those people
that meant most to him,

and he took a gun
and shot himself.

Here is a photograph
of Arthur Robinson

and his wife and two children

whilst the sun
still shone for him.

But...

This isn't possible, Lord Peter!

It just isn't!

Like most suicides,

Arthur Robinson left a note,

which I found quoted
in the newspaper reports

of the inquest.

It was a long, rambling letter

saying that he'd been
hounded to death,

and significantly containing
a Latin quotation.

Goodness gracious!

"These birds have maiden faces,
foulest filth they drop."

Just so, miss Pyke.

I have not taken your time

by going through all the details
of this confusing case.

But I have presented
the salient points to you

as they occurred to me,
and I've shown you the basis

on which I founded
my working theory.

I've also told you
some of the evidence.

Although it lacks, as yet,
one detail,

I am in a position
to state conclusively

the name of the culprit.

This is all very convincing,
Lord Peter,

except for one thing.

What is that, warden?

Well, she was present

at the discovery
in the lecture room.

That is what she
wanted us to believe.

But the whole thing
was a clear fake.

The idea that the poltergeist

was caught in discovery
by preparing her messages

in such a public place
was rather absurd.

The ceiling lights had been used

when there was a reading lamp
in good working order

on the table,

next to the box
of cut out letters,

the very box containing

insufficient vowels
and consonants to complete

the taunting message
begun to Miss Vane.

It was Annie
who drew Carrie's attention

to the light at the window,

and it was only Annie

who claimed to have seen
the figure at the table.

But Miss Vane and Carrie
heard the easel

being knocked over
in the lecture room

when I was
hurrying to join them!

Yes, you having been alerted

from the lodge telephone
by Annie,

who then just had time
to stage manage

that very convincing effect
by rushing back

and nipping in
through the darkroom window

and out again, and 'round,

in time to arrive
about the same time

as you did yourself.

I must admit,
I was looking for evidence

of strings over
the tops of doors,

but the marks on the darkroom
windowsill were commensurate

with Annie's necessary
three trips to and fro.

And of course,
the suspicious hairpin...

just another plant.

Come in.

Excuse me, m'Lord.

Padgett asked me
to give you this.

Just a moment,
Mr. Bunter.

Lord Peter,
I want to see Annie Wilson.

She must be found
and brought here.

Better not.

But you've just made
a public accusation

against this unfortunate woman.

I think it is only right

that she be given
the opportunity to answer it.

Please...

tell Padgett to
bring her here at once.

Very good, ma'am.

The united spirit
of the college as a whole

has stood between us

and the most
unpleasant publicity.

But had it not been
for Miss Vane's involvement,

I fear that matter would
now be out of our hands.

We owe her a great deal.

Come in.

You sent for me,
Dr. Baring?

Yes, Annie.

Come here, please.

Lord Peter?

This is your key, I believe.

Key?

Don't know what
you're talking about.

A duplicate key

with which you locked yourself
into the cellar

after your mistaken attack
on Miss Vane.

I imagine it was mistaken

in that the attack
was meant for miss Devine.

Mrs. Robinson?

Annie, we are giving you

the opportunity
to clear yourself.

Clear myself?

Yes.

What is this?
Some court of law?

No.

I'd like to see you
bring me to a real court.

Then I could tell the judge

how that woman there
killed my husband!

That's enough! What
you've done is very wicked!

Broke him and killed him!

Mrs. Robinson,

I'm immensely disturbed
to hear about all this.

I knew nothing about it
until now.

You didn't give a damn!

But you must understand,

I had no choice in the matter.

You murdered him.

I couldn't possibly
have foreseen the outcome.

I say you murdered him.

What harm had he
done to anybody?

He told a lie about someone

who's dead and dust
hundreds of years ago.

Who was the worse for that?

You broke him and killed him...
all for nothing!

Do you think
that's a woman's job?

A woman's job is to look after
her husband and children!

I wish I could kill you all!

Annie, that's... you can't
shut me up, you cold bitch,

you're the worst of the lot,
you run this place!

And you all stick together,
don't you?

Even though you don't
trust each other.

You can't agree about anything,

except hating decent women
and their men.

There's nothing in your books
about real life

and marriage and children,
is there?

Nothing about people
who are desperate,

or love, or hate...

Or anything that's human.

You brought him here.
I know about you!

I'm sorry.

Why are you sorry?

You're the dirtiest
hypocrite of the lot.

I know who you are...

you had a lover once, he died.

You chucked him out because
you were too proud to marry him.

You'd say you loved him...
you don't know what love is.

And you'll probably
do the same for him.

Well, what are you
gonna do now, all of you?!

Run away to the magistrate?
I don't think you dare!

You're afraid to
come out into the light!

You're afraid of
your precious college

and your precious selves.

And you always will be.

Peter, I apologize for letting
this scene take place.

I should have known better.

You're quite right.

Miss Devine,

I'm sure I speak for everyone

when I say that no sane person

could possibly think
of blaming you.

Thank you, warden.

Nobody, perhaps, but myself.

Not for my original action,

which was right
and unavoidable...

It's the sequel for which
I hold myself to blame.

The lack of concern
for a fellow human being.

No matter that he brought about

his own downfall,

I should have made it
my responsibility

to see what became
of that unhappy man

and his wife and family.

And speaking of responsibility
to and for others,

what about you and Lord Peter?

I'm not sure
I've ever thought of him

as a responsibility of mine.

I don't mean to pry, Miss Vane,

but isn't it time
you faced facts?

I've been facing one fact
for some time now...

if I once gave way to Peter,
I should burn up like straw.

That is moderately obvious.

How often has he used
the knowledge of that

as a weapon against you?

Never.

Never.

Then what are you
afraid of... yourself?

Maybe.

I shouldn't be at all
an easy person to live with,

I've got a devilish temper...
I'd make his life a misery.

If you're determined you're not
fit to black his boots,

tell him so and send him away.

I've been trying
to send Peter away

ever since I first met him!

If you had tried, you could have
sent him away in five minutes.

Meaning I didn't want to?

Bring your scholar's mind
to the question

and be true to yourself,

for he will never
make up your mind for you.

It looks as if I shall have to

go back to Rome again next week.

But I thought I'd stay on
for a couple of days here.

How about you?

I haven't made any plans.

Not thinking of
rooting yourself here,

among the grass and stones?

"Ask for the old paths
and walk therein,

and ye shall find
rest for your souls."

Can it be done?

No.

But there are times here,

away from the haste
and violence,

when one thinks it can.

Funny we should be here
talking like this.

Do you remember Wilvercombe,

when all we could find
to throw at one another

was cheap wit
and spiteful remarks?

At least I was spiteful...
you never were.

Oh, that was the
watering place atmosphere.

One is always vulgar
at watering places.

Thank heavens it's almost
impossible to achieve at Oxford.

After one's second year,
at least.

There's something
about this place

that alters one's values
considerably.

Yes, there is.

For instance...

You may have noticed
that I haven't proposed to you

whilst I've been in Oxford.

Yes, I had noticed that.

The fact is,

I'm afraid that
anything you say here

will be final...

No going back.

That is a risk.

I say,
this arcade's rather jolly.

A touch of Vanburgh.

Harriet, you know I love you.
Will you marry me?

Dear idiot...

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