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Bravo, young man. you have to tell me what this was all about sometime. I want you to know... when it looked there for awhile like you were going slowly insane... I was fully prepared to have you committed to the <u>finest</u> mentalhealth facility available. I mean that sincerely, don't thank me. |
You warm my heart. |
What the fuck... ?! |
Why are you following me? |
I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just driving... |
Look... what I'm doing is none of your business... |
Is Alan Baer "the Game?" Is that what this is? |
Friend... why don't you back off. |
Hey... ! |
Nice touch. Does the game use real bullets... ? |
Invitations: the Museum Gala. |
No. |
The Fitzwilliam Botanical Garden Annual Fundraiser. |
No. |
The Hinchberger wedding. |
Let me think... Hordes of men in tuxedos. Everyone's droning. Ludwell's trying to break the ice by reciting an offcolor limerick... |
I'll send your regrets. Honestly, why must I even bother? |
Because, if you don't know about society, you don't have the satisfaction of avoiding it. |
Your exwife. |
I know who she is. Take a message. |
I don't like her. |
I wouldn't mention the following, except he was very insistent. It's obviously some sort of prank... |
What? |
A gentleman left a message requesting a lunch, but I assured him... |
What gentleman, Maria? |
A Mister... Seymour Butts. |
"Under the Bleachers"... by Seymour Butts. |
Pardon me? I'm afraid I don't... |
Cancel lunch. Make reservations at Campton Place for me and Mr. Butts. |
What's the trouble? |
You're here for Conrad Van Orton? I'm the hotel manager... |
Pleasure to meet you, I'd like to see my brother, thank you. |
Your brother. Will you come with me? |
What's this about? |
It's a private matter, for you... I think you'll be more comfortable... |
Where's my brother? |
There were complaints by other guests, and damage to his room. We did the best we could to accommodate his behavior. |
His behavior... ? |
He couldn't, or refused to pay. We extended credit... |
Look, where is he?! |
There was an incident a few days ago... a nervous breakdown, they said. The police took him. They left this address, in case anyone... |
Thank you. |
Have a nice day. |
Dinner's in the oven. |
Thank you. Goodnight. |
You did? How is he? |
Okay. I think he's into some sort of new personal improvement cult. |
Well... send my love, if you see him again. |
Is everything alright? |
Fine. |
I've finished for the evening. Will you be needing anything else? |
No, thank you. Goodnight. |
Goodnight then. |
Mr. Van Orton... ? |
Ilsa... you're alright? |
Yes. What do you mean? What's wrong? |
Did the alarm go off? The house... they... you didn't see... ? |
I don't know what you're talking about. What's happened? |
There's been a break in. Lock this door and stay here. Don't move a muscle. |
What makes you ask? |
I'm not sure. |
All the time I've known you, you've never once asked about him. |
He came to my mind recently, that's all. |
Your mother thought he was a good man. He worked very hard. What I remember most was his manner was so... slight. It was easy to spend time in a room, and not realize he'd been there the whole time. |
Was he morose, or...? I mean... |
No. What happened... no one expected it. |
Sometimes I wonder how much of him there is in me. |
Not much, I think. |
I'm just like him. |
You're not like him at all. I don't know exactly what's going on around here lately, but don't make me start worrying about you. |
Did you worry about him? |
Nobody worried about your father. |
Goodnight. See you home. |
Goodnight. Where was she? |
Ah, Mr. Van Orton. Here you go... |
Have we met? |
Show Mr. Van Orton to his room. |
The key? |
Hm? |
Is there a room key? |
Didn't I give you two? |
No, you didn't... |
I need the police. |
Let's get you dried off first. I might have some clothes below. |
You know, these fit... perfectly. |
They were my husband's. My late husband... may he rest in peace. |
I've been so lonely. |
I can't tell you how <u>not</u> interested I am. |
Don't be nervous. They said you'd be nervous. |
Don't take another step. |
Isn't this what you like? They told me you had a thing for boats. |
First they try to kill me, now you? Put your damn clothes back on. |
Jim Feingold, V.P., E.D.A. Engineering and Data Analysis. |
I'm not quite sure how this works. My brother... |
Oh, here we go... |
VAN... ORTON... A gift from Conrad Van Orton. Interesting... |
What is? |
Your brother was a client with our London branch. We do a sort of informal scoring. His numbers were outstanding. Sure you're not hungry at all... ? Tung Hoy, best in Chinatown... |
No, thank you. |
You need to fill out those forms. Application, psychtests: M.M.P.I. and T.A.T. For the financial questionnaire, don't answer anything you don't feel like. We'll run a T.R.W.... |
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