garcianacho/Scripts · Datasets at Hugging Face

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You don't believe him?
It's Mother you have to convince. He's very agitated. Wait here.
Emma in Wonderland. Welcome, Mrs. Peel. We've been expecting you. We hope you'll enjoy your stay with us. Decontamination is almost complete.
Decontamination ?
And you've a new wardrobe. He does want you to look attractive. He tells me you're very beautiful.
Doctor Peel, I presume?
And you must be Steed. Please don't get up.
I was about to throw in the towel.
I had a spot of bother at the door.
I shouldn't wonder. Not a woman inside Boodles since
1922. Why the kippers?
Red herring would have been too obvious, don't you think?
So what was all this some sort of test?
Congratulations, you've penetrated a bastion of male privilege. I guessed you weren't a stickler for Tradition, doctor.
Whereas you are.
Dyed in the wool. But I can admire someone who doesn't play by the rules.
Rules are made to be broken.
Not by me. Play by the rules, Doctor, or the game is nothing.
And just what is the game?
I say, this is all terribly formal. Must I go an calling you Dr. Peel?
Under the circumstances, you may call me Mrs. Peel.
Much better.
And now that we've settled the matter of honorifics, will you kindly explain why you wished me to meet you?
I didn't. Mother did.
Mother?
... Showers followed by sunny periods.
We're not here to talk about the weather, surely.
Ah ... From Trubshaw's. My shoemaker.
A kipper. Or a red herring? What were they investigating?
My father always wanted a boy.
Really? I fail to see the connection.
I had a feeling you would. Touche!
Do you?
Yes indeed. I need protection.
I thought we were on our way.
Oh, absolutely, but Trubshaw's a man worth meeting. No point setting out half shod.
Or half cocked.
Steed, we really must be
Ahh. Perfect fit. The luxury of a handmade shoe. As unique as a face or a fingerprint. Or should I say DNA?
You can but I wish you wouldn't ...
Thank you, Trubshaw ...
That place is so absurd, so out of date ...
Do you really think so?
You know what I mean. This car and you. Nobody walks around like that. Milk?
Not all Tradition is bad, Mrs. Peel. No thank you.
But why? What's the point?
A Gentleman has to have a code. This is part of mine. A uniform. Think of it as my suit of shining armor.
And I suppose you're the knight.
The most unpredictable piece on the board. And always ready to protect his queen.
That's predictable. When I find a queen in need of protection I'll let you know.
Sir August Merryweather ... why are we seeing him first?
As per mother's instructions.
Do we always follow Mother's instructions?
For a man in my position
Just what is your position, if you don't mind my asking. How did a stuffed shirt like you get into this line of work?
They call me in when they've reached a dead end. Freelance. Like yourself.
I have no choice. Why should you risk your life?
After our fencing match, I was rather hoping you would do the risking. More tea?
No thanks.
I meant me.
According to Mother, Sir August owns half of the Highlands. A millionaire. Former head of Special Projects at the Ministry. Now ...
An eccentric recluse?
Not so much eccentric. More barking mad. He has a wife called June. And a daughter somewhere Julie.
June, July ... August?
The family does seem to be somewhat meteorologically inclined.
Any other vices?
All of a piece, really. A fanatical weatherman. Chairman of BROLLY. British Royal Organisation For Lasting Liquid Years. Thinks British weather has been tampered with by ... aliens.
So ... I distract him while you snoop around? How?
Small talk. Try the weather.
Ah, Brenda ... Mrs. Peel?
You should be dead. How do you feel?
Strange.
You were very lucky. Four shots to the heart. I found you after I slipped away from Sir August. Mother brought you here. Not me you should thank.
I wasn't about to.
I mean your man Trubshaw. Your bulletproof waistcoat. I thought you were just overdressed.
I might say the same.
Mother and Dr. Darling have me under observation. They think I tried to kill you.
Why should they think that?
You told them. You said I arrived on a camel, shot you four times. Left you for dead.
Frankly that's how I remember it.
But that's absurd. I may not be overfond of you, Steed, but it's not my style.
Perhaps your memory plays tricks, Mrs. Peel.
That's possible. Sir August was convinced he'd met me before. But I'd never met him. Another odd thing. When it rained, he said it was just as someone had promised.
Did he say who?
No. But he must know. Incidentally, my double left you with this.
An invitation. To a 'formal picnic'...?
Did you say formal? I must dress.
I must say, you look more your old self
You mean my other self ...
Either way ... may I ask: why you dress in that fashion?
I should have thought that was obvious ... I'm in mourning.
Colonel Crabtree. International Satellite Systems. Formerly of the Ministry.
How on earth can you tell?
Elementary, Mrs. Peel. Trubshaw isn't the only shoemaker still practicing his trade ...
Very good, Steed ...
What on earth?
Any ideas?
Well, he was a fellow of the Royal Zoological Society ...
Is that written in his shoe?
Common knowledge, Mrs. Peel ...

You don't believe him?

It's Mother you have to convince. He's very agitated. Wait here.

Emma in Wonderland. Welcome, Mrs. Peel. We've been expecting you. We hope you'll enjoy your stay with us. Decontamination is almost complete.

Decontamination ?

And you've a new wardrobe. He does want you to look attractive. He tells me you're very beautiful.

Doctor Peel, I presume?

And you must be Steed. Please don't get up.

I was about to throw in the towel.

I had a spot of bother at the door.

I shouldn't wonder. Not a woman inside Boodles since

1922. Why the kippers?

Red herring would have been too obvious, don't you think?

So what was all this some sort of test?

Congratulations, you've penetrated a bastion of male privilege. I guessed you weren't a stickler for Tradition, doctor.

Whereas you are.

Dyed in the wool. But I can admire someone who doesn't play by the rules.

Rules are made to be broken.

Not by me. Play by the rules, Doctor, or the game is nothing.

And just what is the game?

I say, this is all terribly formal. Must I go an calling you Dr. Peel?

Under the circumstances, you may call me Mrs. Peel.

Much better.

And now that we've settled the matter of honorifics, will you kindly explain why you wished me to meet you?

I didn't. Mother did.

Mother?

... Showers followed by sunny periods.

We're not here to talk about the weather, surely.

Ah ... From Trubshaw's. My shoemaker.

A kipper. Or a red herring? What were they investigating?

My father always wanted a boy.

Really? I fail to see the connection.

I had a feeling you would. Touche!

Do you?

Yes indeed. I need protection.

I thought we were on our way.

Oh, absolutely, but Trubshaw's a man worth meeting. No point setting out half shod.

Or half cocked.

Steed, we really must be

Ahh. Perfect fit. The luxury of a handmade shoe. As unique as a face or a fingerprint. Or should I say DNA?

You can but I wish you wouldn't ...

Thank you, Trubshaw ...

That place is so absurd, so out of date ...

Do you really think so?

You know what I mean. This car and you. Nobody walks around like that. Milk?

Not all Tradition is bad, Mrs. Peel. No thank you.

But why? What's the point?

A Gentleman has to have a code. This is part of mine. A uniform. Think of it as my suit of shining armor.

And I suppose you're the knight.

The most unpredictable piece on the board. And always ready to protect his queen.

That's predictable. When I find a queen in need of protection I'll let you know.

Sir August Merryweather ... why are we seeing him first?

As per mother's instructions.

Do we always follow Mother's instructions?

For a man in my position

Just what is your position, if you don't mind my asking. How did a stuffed shirt like you get into this line of work?

They call me in when they've reached a dead end. Freelance. Like yourself.

I have no choice. Why should you risk your life?

After our fencing match, I was rather hoping you would do the risking. More tea?

No thanks.

I meant me.

According to Mother, Sir August owns half of the Highlands. A millionaire. Former head of Special Projects at the Ministry. Now ...

An eccentric recluse?

Not so much eccentric. More barking mad. He has a wife called June. And a daughter somewhere Julie.

June, July ... August?

The family does seem to be somewhat meteorologically inclined.

Any other vices?

All of a piece, really. A fanatical weatherman. Chairman of BROLLY. British Royal Organisation For Lasting Liquid Years. Thinks British weather has been tampered with by ... aliens.

So ... I distract him while you snoop around? How?

Small talk. Try the weather.

Ah, Brenda ... Mrs. Peel?

You should be dead. How do you feel?

Strange.

You were very lucky. Four shots to the heart. I found you after I slipped away from Sir August. Mother brought you here. Not me you should thank.

I wasn't about to.

I mean your man Trubshaw. Your bulletproof waistcoat. I thought you were just overdressed.

I might say the same.

Mother and Dr. Darling have me under observation. They think I tried to kill you.

Why should they think that?

You told them. You said I arrived on a camel, shot you four times. Left you for dead.

Frankly that's how I remember it.

But that's absurd. I may not be overfond of you, Steed, but it's not my style.

Perhaps your memory plays tricks, Mrs. Peel.

That's possible. Sir August was convinced he'd met me before. But I'd never met him. Another odd thing. When it rained, he said it was just as someone had promised.

Did he say who?

No. But he must know. Incidentally, my double left you with this.

An invitation. To a 'formal picnic'...?

Did you say formal? I must dress.

I must say, you look more your old self

You mean my other self ...

Either way ... may I ask: why you dress in that fashion?

I should have thought that was obvious ... I'm in mourning.

Colonel Crabtree. International Satellite Systems. Formerly of the Ministry.

How on earth can you tell?

Elementary, Mrs. Peel. Trubshaw isn't the only shoemaker still practicing his trade ...

Very good, Steed ...

What on earth?

Any ideas?

Well, he was a fellow of the Royal Zoological Society ...

Is that written in his shoe?

Common knowledge, Mrs. Peel ...