B1 Intermediate UK 4968 Folder Collection
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North and South Part Three
Mr Thornton's called, miss.
- Mr Thornton? - He's in the sitting room.
Isn't Papa in?
He asked for you, miss, and the master's out.
Very well. I will go.
Mr Thornton?
My dear Miss Hale.
How are you?
- I am well, thank you. - But the wound you recelved?
You would obilge me, Mr Thornton, by not talking about it.
Yes, of course...
May I thank you for sending my mother the invalid mattress?
It gives her much ease.
We're always ready to help in any way we may.
Thank you. Mr Thornton, please tell me what has happened
as a result of yesterday's disturbances.
I've no news. I've not left the house.
I and my fellow magistrates agreed that charges should be preferred
solely against Boucher and two ringleaders who assisted him.
Miss Hale...
Do you not think it unjust, Mr Thornton,
that belng a magistrate you should exercise that authority
against those unfortunates who attacked you?
- Unfortunates, Miss Hale? - They are starving.
At the moment, maybe, but not for long. The strike's all but ended.
Ended?
Under threat of long prison sentences, almost every man is ready to swear
that he didn't take part in the riot, was against it, in fact.
Thelr one way of assuring us of thelr gulltlessness is by golng back to work,
on our terms.
And the Irish? What about the Irish?
Those who want to stay may do so.
The rest'll be pald handsomely and sent back again.
You have used those Irish to provoke the riot.
No, only to break the strike.
But is that not despicable?
Despicable?
My dear Miss Hale, I've used cunning, it's true.
But so have the workers in withdrawing thelr labour when most we needed it.
Cunning is right in commerce. Commerce depends upon it.
And what about humanity? You would have had those people starve to death.
But if they had, it would have been thelr own fault.
Miss Hale, you talk about the masters
as though they were some kind of ogres, jackals.
Don't you understand?
The master can go down to ruin as well as the men.
The master must run the race not only against the workers
but against all the other masters, his rivals.
I can be easily trampled underfoot by my fellows, see my family starve.
There is no mercy in our philosophy, nor should there be.
Add your humanity and the economic principles,
the sheer logic by which I must work, becomes meaningless.
We had better not talk about it.
No, no, you are... you are right.
For beyond the factory, beyond the worId of business...
..there is another life.
I beg your pardon?
Miss Hale, I know how to be grateful, and the action you took yesterday...
You have nothing to be grateful for.
Any woman would have done the same.
I ought rather to apologise to you
for having sald thoughtless words which sent you down into danger.
Miss Hale, do not try to escape from the expression of my gratitude, please.
- It is from my heart. - I escape from nothing.
I simply say that you owe me no gratitude.
Any expression of it is palnful to me because I do not feel I deserve it.
I owe my life to you, Miss Hale, and I'm proud of knowing it.
Whatever the future, paln or pleasure, sorrow or joy, I owe to you.
You shall hear me.
I'm happy that I live, for I owe it all...
..to a woman that I love.
I love you, Miss Hale,
as I do not think man ever loved woman before.
Mr Thornton, you offend me.
Offend you?
Indeed you do.
I belleve you imagine that my conduct of yesterday...
..was a personal act between you and me.
There was nothing personal in my act,
and I find it extremely ungentlemanly of you to think that there was.
Very well, I'm not a gentleman.
But I clalm the right to express my feelings.
And I do not want to hear them. How dare you presume so!
Why, there was not a man in all that crowd for whom I had not more sympathy,
for whom I should not have done what little I could more heartliy.
Yes, I'm already aware
of these misplaced sympathles of yours, Miss Hale.
You despise me because you don't understand me.
I do not care to understand you.
No, I see you do not.
You are unfair and unjust.
One word more.
You look as though it talnted you to be loved by me.
You cannot avold it.
I've never loved any woman before,
but now I love, and I will love.
But don't be afraid of too much expression on my part.
I'm not afraid.
No one yet has ever dared to be impertinent to me,
and no one ever shall.
But, Mr Thornton...
You have been very kind to my father and mother.
Don't let us go on making each other angry.
Pray don't.
My children. My children.
Where are you?
Dixon, where are my children?
Miss Margaret's downstalrs, ma'am.
She's talking to Mr Thornton.
- And Frederick? - Frederick?
Tell my son I want to see him.
Dear madam, Frederick lives in Spaln.
Spaln? Why has he gone there?
He's lived there for the past elght years.
elght years?
Don't you remember, ma'am?
He's a wanted man.
His mother wants him.
Now, you have a daughter, a beautiful daughter.
Think of her.
Yes, Margaret. My daughter Margaret.
Dixon, will you get her for me?
- I want to talk to her. - Very well, ma'am.
- Dixon, will you get her, please? - Only calm, now. Calm.
Yes.
Oh, there you are, miss. Mr Thornton's gone, has he?
- Yes. - Why, you're trembilng, miss.
It's nothing. How is she?
Oh, Margaret. Margaret, dear.
Mama.
Dixon, will you leave us? I want to talk to my daughter alone.
Very well, ma'am.
Margaret, will you find him for me?
- Who? - Frederick.
- My brother? - Yes.
He'll make me well again. I must see him.
- Yes. - Will you get him for me?
Write to him. Write to him. Tell him that I want him by my side.
- He's my son. He should be here. - Mama, Mama, quletly, now.
Please, will you write to him? Write to him.
Mama, listen to me first.
Is there something you've not told me about Frederick?
Some secret concerning him?
Why do you say that?
I feel that there may be.
No.
He's a good boy, a wonderful boy. Write to him.
I will wait until Papa returns.
Oh, no, Margaret, now, by the next post, or I'll never see him again.
I'll get my pen and paper.
- I'll write to him myself. - No. No, Mama.
Lie still.
I shall sit here beside you and write to him.
You will?
Yes. You shall see me do it.
He's a good boy.
He's my son.
He should be here.
His place is here.
They're after me, the pollce. They're after me.
What do you expect?
There's nowhere to hide. Everybody's frightened of talking to me.
Not a man will hide me, no one.
- You're not stopping here, that's flat. - I'm not asking.
Only...would you... would you look in on me wife and kids sometime?
Aye, I can do that for you.
What's gonna happen to me, Nick?
How the hell do I know? You've got your true desserts now, you have.
For two pins I'd give you up to the pollce meself.
You'd what?
Committee sald no disorder, no injury to property or life.
You've ruined the strike, you have!
Instead of decent workers, you made us all into cowing revolutionarles!
We're all lumped together cos of you!
For two pins, I'd give you up meself. I would!
You an' all.
(Yells)
You an' all.
You'd not give him up?
Two pins I would.
There aln't much you can do for him, Bess.
Do what you can for his wife and kids... Here, Bess. Here...
Oh, God!
My little Bess.
My little Bess.
- Just arrived home, Papa? - Yes, my dear.
What have you been teaching today?
Use of the gerundive constructions in the accusative and dative.
Not one of my ablest pupils. Nothing sinks in.
Into one ear and out of the other.
Poor Papa.
To think how much I burn for my pupils to know the glories of Homer,
the sublimity of Virgil.
They can't understand the simplest of grammar.
Oh, well, it's my fate, I suppose.
Where have you been to, my pretty mald?
I've been to the post office, Papa, with a letter.
A letter to Frederick.
I've asked him to return home.
- You've... - Well, Mama wants him by her side.
And I know it's a long way for him to travel...
- Margaret... - What is it, Papa?
You don't know what you've done. How could you?
Papa... P=10 a=8 p=12 a=8 .=15 .=15 .=15
Your mother, was it she who suggested he should come home?
- Yes. - Oh, my poor wife.
- Her mind must be wandering. - Can't you explaln, Papa?
Yes, I must.
I must.
Sit down, Margaret.
Tell me, please.
We've protected you from knowing about your brother not because of his offence
but because of the legal consequences.
If he returns to England, he could be returning to his death.
What has he done?
- He led a mutiny while he was at sea. - A mutiny?
No, Margaret, let me try and explaln it to you calmly.
Frederick was a lieutenant under a certaln Captaln Reid,
a tyrant of a man who used his crew for his own amusement,
up and down the rigging like so many rats and monkeys.
One day some of the men were aloft on the spars of the maln topsail,
and this man, this devil,
ordered them to race down,
threatening the last of them with the cat-o'-nine-tails.
The man who was farthest from the mast
saw that it was impossible for him to pass his companions.
What could he do to escape that horrible, cruel flogging?
There was a rope hanging some ten feet beneath him.
He threw himself down in a desperate attempt to catch at it.
But he falled.
Oh, no.
And my brother led the mutiny?
Yes. There was a court martial.
Some of the sallors were hanged at the yardarm.
But for Frederick, the worst is that the court,
in condemning them to death,
sald they had suffered themselves to be led astray
by one of thelr superior officers.
I'm bringing him back into this danger.
But you did not know.
Besides, I'm glad.
Yes, now it has been done, I'm glad the letter has been posted.
Glad?
I would not have done it myself, but I'm thankful that it is as it is.
Frederick would never have forgiven me for keeping him from his mother
in her final hours.
Shall I serve luncheon now, sir?
Thank you, Dixon.
The risk he will have to take.
Yes, yes, Frederick must be kept hidden.
We'll have Dixon guard the door ilke a dragon.
But, Margaret, whatever the risk,
the right thing has been done.
I know my son. He's an honourable man.
I know what he would wish sald of him at a time like this.
(Speaks Latin)
One of the odes of Horace, my dear.
He has set honour before the safe and the sensible.
Well? W=38 e=7 I=26 I=26 ?=44
(Clears throat)
Where have you been all day?
Oh, walking, Mother, walking.
You'll both need a stock of household ilnens,
so I've been unpicking my initlals
and replacing them with hers.
Nobody loves me but you, Mother.
A mother's love is given by God, John.
It holds fast forever.
A girl's love is like a puff of smoke.
So she wouldn't have you?
Well, you've done the honourable thing, that's all that matters.
I'm not fit for her, Mother, knew I was not.
That's not the point.
I love her more than ever.
Can't help myself.
- I love her. - And I hate her.
I'd have done my best to welcome her.
I'd have done my utmost to make her happy, had she accepted you.
But now we know her true character. She's not worthy of any man's love
Stop it!
You stay blind if you want to, but ask yourself this.
Would any girI have modestly done what she's done?
I won't have a word sald against her.
I'm the mother that bore you.
And your sorrow is my agony.
And if you don't hate her, I do.
Don't say that, Mother!
Don't say it!
She doesn't care for me and that's enough.
I never want to speak of her again.
With all my heart.
I only wish that she and the rest of her family
were swept back to the place they came from.
Warrants have been taken out for the three ringleaders.
Strike's almost over.
(Dogs barking)
(Footsteps approach)
(Wails)
What's up with you?
Bess.
Bess...
Da?
- Da? - She's dead.
She's just dead, Mary.
Nowt can hurt her now, Mary. Nowt can hurt her now.
Nought of life's grlef can touch her more.
My Bessy.
My little Bess.
You lived the life of a dog, work first, sickness last.
Uh? U=41 h=2 ?=44
But to dle without knowing one good bit of rejolcing in all her days,
now, is that just, is that right?
Her belleved in heaven, you know, belleved in the city of God.
Well, let there be a god to give it you.
It's too cruel else.
Her had hope...hope for the golden gates and the angels.
I had hoped for a better life here on earth. Where's that led us, eh?
But we has hope.
Hope keeps us golng.
You had more than your goodly share on it, didn't you?
Cos there's...
..there's nowt else.
They're working again, John.
Your mills.
- And it's your triumph. - Triumph?
You brought 'em to heel.
Keep 'em that way in future.
There's not a man out there that isn't ready to swear
he never had anything to do with the strike,
never belonged to a union,
never stood in that yard threatening me and...
Aye. A=37 y=5 e=7 .=15
Oh, by the way, I've been to see Mrs Hale, Mother.
Took her some frult.
What? W=38 h=2 a=8 t=13 ?=44
The woman is dying.
It was the least I could do.
She asked after you.
She thinks you're a very fine and wise lady.
- There's no need to humour me. - She sald it.
She thinks much of you. She wants you to visit her.
- Visit her? Me? - She was insistent on it.
I...I think there's something she wants to say to you.
- Say what? - I don't know.
She was obsessed by it. She kept begging me to give you the message.
She wants to see you. Will you go?
I haven't decided.
If you don't, I'll think it's some unfair prejudice you have against the whole of the family.
You'll go, won't you?
If I do, it'll be for your sake, nobody else's.
Thank you, Mother.
Madam, Mrs Thornton's come to see you.
Mrs Thornton, yes.
DIXON: If you'd come this way, ma'am.
Be good enough to leave me with her, please.
Very well, ma'am. Pull the bell if there's anything you're wanting.
Mrs Thornton.
Yes.
Won't you sit down?
I'm glad you've come. It's about Margaret.
My daughter Margaret.
She'll be without a mother.
A young girI in a strange place.
No one, no relations, no one to gulde her.
I sympathise with your anxlety.
Befriend her.
You wish me to be a friend to Miss Hale?
Yes.
I'll be a true friend if circumstances requlre it,
but I can't be a tender friend, that's impossible.
If you wish it.
If I see her dolng anything which I consider to be wrong...
Wrong? Margaret would never do anything wrong wilfully.
When that happens, I'll tell her,
plalnly and truthfully to her face, as I would my own daughter.
Thank you... your kindness.
It's not kindness.
It's an obligation to you, which shall be performed.
Thank you.
- She looked very peaceful, Dixon. - Yes, poor little Bessy.
I've told her sister Mary that she can come and clean for us.
Yes, miss.
I...I think I should tell you, miss,
Mrs Thornton's upstairs.
- Mrs Thornton? - She called to see your mother.
- Good morning. - Good morning, Mr Hale.
- Good morning, Miss Hale. - How kind of you to visit Mama.
- Papa and I do so much appreclate it. - We do indeed, ma'am.
It was an obligation to my son. He asked me to call.
I didn't expect to see Mrs Hale in such a low condition.
- You have my condolences, sir. - Thank you.
Good day, Mr Hale and Miss Hale.
Good day, Mrs Thornton.
Good day, ma'am.
That woman doesn't like you, Miss Margaret, and that's certaln.
Please, Dixon, please. This is no time for squabbles.
My poor wife.
Come, Margaret, stay with me.
I live nowadays largely through your strength, I'm afraid.
(Knocking)
(Knocking)
Is this Mr Hale's house?
Frederick.
Margaret.
- My mother, is she alive? - Yes.
Dear, dear Frederick.
As ill as can be, but she is alive.
Thank God.
Papa!
Papa, guess who is here!
Frederick, my son, you're home.
- Father. - What a man you are. What a man.
How are you, Father? Your health?
The body's sound. The grief is in the mind.
It deeply distresses me not having been with you. Has Mother suffered much?
MR HALE: I'm afraid she has.
Oh, to think that your return, which brings me such joy,
comes at such a tragic moment.
But let us go in. I want to look at you.
- Are your shutters closed? - Ah, the shutters.
Margaret, the shutters.
Frederick, you're all safe.
My boy. My boy.
Never have I seen a man look so well.
My brother.
You must give credit to the Spanish sunshine.
The sun, we see so little of it here, I'm afraid.
- My dear brother, you are so... - Say it, Margaret.
So handsome. Yes, handsome.
I can understand your surprise.
She hasn't seen you since she was a child.
Do you remember, Frederick, how we two and your mother
drove up to Harley Street, you in your uniform,
to say goodbye to her before you salled off for the Indlan Ocean?
Oh, you were so proud, so proud.
- Look at us now. - Father.
I a Dissenter, disowned by the Church.
You a fugitive with a price on your head.
And my poor wife up there.
- Please, Papa. - (Speaks Latin)
How I curse myself for not having been able to play my proper role
in our family's misfortunes.
Not curse yourself. You must not say that.
Forgive me. My courage has grown dim.
Forgive me. You have risked your life to come here.
It is you who must forgive me. The shame I have brought upon us all.
Pray, let us not talk of forgiveness nor shame.
We're a family. We love each other.
Besides, all talk is idle when we remember the purpose of your visit.
Your mother has been my staff, my...rock
of this earthly life for so many years now.
The thought of her passing is almost unendurable.
It is that that brings on my frailty of spirit.
Let us go together, Father.
And you, Margaret.
The family together once more.
- It is what Mother wants. - Yes.
Her dying wish.
Come, my dears, we've delayed too long.
Frederick.
- Master Frederick. - Dixon.
My dear, dear Dixon.
You've come at last. You've come to your mother.
She's called after you. Day and night she's called after you.
How is she?
I fear it might be too late.
Mama.
My dear, dear Mama.
It is Frederick, your son.
Can't you speak to me?
Can't you open your eyes?
I'm here, Mama.
I'm here at last.
Your son.
She won't recognise him.
I fear it is the end.
But she must.
Mama. Mama, please.
She must see him. She must.
Oh, Papa.
He has come all this way and she so much has yearned for him.
Oh, please, God.
(Speaks Latin)
Lord, save me from madness, you who have given reason.
Reason! Is it just?
Frederick. You've come back.
Mama.
Frederick.
Maria.
She is at rest.
- Oh, my Maria. - Father.
(Wails)
Leave me.
Leave me, all of you.
She was my wife.
- Frederick. - Yes.
Do something for us, for me.
What is it?
Go.
- Go. Go now. - (Door opens)
- And go quickly. - Go?
You shouldn't be here.
I know the risk I've brought you to.
You've done everything that was needed.
But Father and the funeral... I can't desert you now.
I know what is in your heart, dear brother.
But consider what will happen if you are caught, to you and to us.
Miss Margaret's right.
There is a traln to London at midnight.
If you have to walt for a boat, go to Henry Lennox.
- Lennox? - Our lawyer.
His address is 5, Portland Place. Ask him to help you.
Sound advice, miss.
Pay your respects to your father and go.
If you love us, Frederick, please.
Yes, very well.
I will accompany you to the railway station.
- Frederick. - Yes, Margaret?
Don't let's go on the platform yet.
If you do see Henry Lennox in London, ask him if your case can be reopened.
Dear sisters, lawyers can't do me much good.
But if he could collect witnesses, if enough people spoke in your favour,
surely the Admiralty would recognise how much you were provoked?
For your sake, Margaret, I will try.
But if there is any danger, don't stay in London. Promise?
Oh, dear sister.
Dear loving sister.
(Traln whistle blows)
Why, Mr Thornton, sir. One of your midnight dispatches, eh?
Oh, aye. Would you put this in the guard's van?
- Very good, sir. - Here.
Most kind of you, sir. Most kind.
(Guard blows whistle)
No, Walter. You mustn't be naughty.
Oh, come on, Fanny, please.
Well, just a ttle one.
- Oh, Fanny. - No, Walter, no.
- You're belng horrid. - Horrid?
I'm not allowing you to be naughty and horrid...until we're marrled.
- But that's three months away. - No.
- Afternoon, Walter. - John.
And I am not ke some girls I could mention, Walter.
Oh?
GirIs who are seen on railway stations at midnight
with thelr arms around strangers.
Where'd you hear that?
By all accounts, you were there as well,
witnessing it all, jealousy written all over your face.
Who told you?
Well, if you must know, a ttle dickybird told me.
- You answer me, will you? - Hold on, old lad.
That's right, Wally. You tell him.
I'm to be treated with some respect in future.
- Fanny. - What's this all about, John?
- It's true, isn't it? - That's not what I'm asking.
Who told you?
Well, if you must know, it was Jane.
Jane?
Her sweetheart works in the booking office.
So you sten to a servant's tittle-tattle?
It's not tittle-tattle.
You keep your mouth shut. Don't let this go any further.
John's right.
You must remember, a lady's reputation is at stake.
Margaret Hale's no lady.
Fanny, you must not gossip ke this.
Ooh! Ooh, how dare you side with him!
(Grunts)
Sorry about that, old lad.
Oh, it's all right.
It's not your fault. It's my fault.
While I've got you to meself, John,
I'd ke to broach you on the subject of haymaking.
- Haymaking? - Hay, while the sun shines.
Belleve me, John, it won't be shining for long.
I'm not sure I follow you, Walter.
Once Parilament brings in its new companles bill,
nothing will be qulte so bendable as it was.
You see, John, with compulsory registration of companles,
we've got to make money before that bill becomes an act.
Not interested in that sort of dodge, Walter.
You should be. Time's running out, old lad.
Now, look, we're agreed about the dowry.
You marry my sister and I pay into her account the sum agreed and nothing else.
All I'm saying is one good turn deserves another.
I'm not gonna float a bucket shop company.
I'll tell you this.
This strike has called attention to dear old England's labour costs.
Our cotton market has become sickly, if not downright consumptive.
You don't have to tell me that. I know where we stand.
(Gong sounds)
Teatime, Walter.
- You're smiling, Margaret. - Yes, Papa.
It's good to see it.
Who is your letter from
Henry Lennox.
Frederick did see him in London, and Henry's agreed to help him.
Ah, that's good.
Now, tell me what is in your letter.
It's from your godfather, Mr Bell.
He says once again how deeply grleved he was
not to be able to attend the funeral.
He's a ttle old to make the journey.
And besides, he has all those students to look after.
Yes, his is a great responsibility.
He asks me to visit him, to go and stay.
Go to Oxford?
Yes.
But you must, Papa, you must.
Margaret, you forget that I have a responsibility towards my pupils too.
Besides, I don't know how I would be recelved in Oxford.
But you must accept Mr Bell's invitation.
Well, once I'm free to go, perhaps, yes.
Now, Margaret, do you know what I would ke us to do now?
No.
When I woke this morning, I had such melancholy thoughts
and I sald to myself,
''Richard Hale, the only way to forget your grlef is to think of others.''
Well?
Let us go and see Mr Higgins.
You know, I've been thinking of leaving, Mr Hale.
I'll go tramping, down South perhaps,
try and find work.
No one will employ you round here because of the strike?
I'm ran t'union committee, Margaret. They don't forget that easily.
But you never stirred up that riot.
Oh, no, I were again' it. That were Boucher's dolng, the fool.
We had public opinion on our side,
then he and his sort started rioting and breaking laws.
It were all over, strike, then.
What has happened to Mr Boucher?
Oh, he went into hiding at first, then Thornton, having got his own way,
called off his prosecutions against the rioters,
so Boucher slumped back to his house and wouldn't show his face for a day or two.
Eh, then what do you think happened?
He went to his employer, Mr Hamper, and sald if he gave him his job back,
he'd tell him all he knowed on our proceedings, the good-for-nothing Judas.
But I'll say this for Hamper, and I'll thank him for it at me dying day,
he drove Boucher away.
- He did? - Aye. He wouldn't listen to him.
Ne'er a word. He sald the traltor walked away crying like a babby.
(Crowd approaches)
What's that noise?
Out of the way, now, out of the way.
I know where he lives. It's...
It's this house here on the... on the corner.
Now, walt here.
- What's happened? - Boucher.
I found him in the brook in the fleld yonder.
- Not Boucher? - In the brook.
In the brook? But there is not water enough to drown in there.
He were a determined chap. He lay with his face downwards.
- He was sick of living. - Boucher, Boucher.
Why did you do it, you fool?
Higgins, tha knowed him. Go and tell the wife.
Tell the wife?
Do it gently, man, but do it quick. We can't leave him here long.
I cannae go. Don't ask me to. I cannae face it.
But thou knowest her best, better than us.
- I cannot do it. - Someone's got to go and tell her.
Papa, will you go?
I will, of course, but...
- I will go. - You, Margaret?
Miss, this way.
- Mrs Boucher? - Aye.
- My name is Margaret Hale. - I know you.
- You're a friend of Higgins's. - Yes.
- Come on in. - (Children shouting)
Ada, go and shut 'em up.
I'll get thelr dad to put his belt round 'em. Tell 'em that.
He's left us. I don't know where he is.
He's left us. I aln't got no grub for children.
- That's what makes 'em so wild. - (Shouting)
Hold your din or I'll large you. If I come up, I'll large you.
- Mrs Boucher... - He'll come back.
They won't give him no work in town.
He's gone tramping over to Greenfleld, see if anyone'll take him on.
- Mrs Boucher... - Aye?
- I'm afraid... - What's up wi' you?
What you looking at me like that for?
Why have you come here? What is it?
- I'm afraid I have to tell you that... - Where's John?
Dead?
Oh, God.
How?
He was drowned.
Drowned?
Where is he?
Out there. The men have brought him back.
The children.
She knows? The men have got together, had a talk.
We'll take a child aplece into our houses,
look after 'em till things have blown over.
- Tell her that, will you? - I heard.
Thank you.
Where is he?
By the steps.
Is that him?
- Am I disturbing you? - No.
What are you studying?
- Greek? - Aye.
You find pleasure in it?
(Sighs)
You read of herolc struggles,
but, all the same, you feel the pathos that lies behind human striving.
It has a calming influence.
Well, that's what I want for you, my son.
Peace.
You've suffered much.
If you want peace, real peace...
..there must be no secrets.
Nothing to hide.
We must open our hearts to each other, John.
I don't understand you, Mother.
I've been walting lovingly for you to say it.
Simply to tell me the thing that haunts you.
Well, it does haunt you, doesn't it? Say it.
Everything will be as it was before.
Before what?
Before she came.
I've told you, I've put her out of my mind.
Have you? Then why do you shleld her, and her wickedness?
What are you talking about, Mother?
The railway station.
I see.
Who told you? Was it Fanny or was it a servant?
Both.
I'm sure there's some perfectly simple explanation.
We speak plalnly in this house, John.
You accept that the man at the railway station is her lover?
Yes.
I didn't want to act on rumour,
but now I have the witness of your eyes, you saw her.
Why are you set to torture me?
Now I can go without the silghtest misgiving.
Go where?
I promised Mrs Hale as she lay dying,
I promised her, that when I had proof of her daughter's wickedness,
I'd confront her with it.
It was a sacred promise, John. It must be done.
She'll never bear it, Mother.
She'll have to bear it if I speak in her dead mother's name.
Yes, well, aye, of course, you must go.
Only don't tell me any more about it. I can't bear to hear of it.
Be gentle with her, Mother.
- Gentle? - Aye.
I didn't promise gentleness.
You have a visitor, miss.
- A visitor? - Mrs Thornton.
Well, show her in. Show her in, will you?
DIXON: Come this way, ma'am.
Mrs Thornton to see Miss Hale.
How kind of you to call, Mrs Thornton. Please be seated.
Thank you.
I prefer not.
Miss Hale, I have a duty to perform.
It's one I find highly distasteful, but it must be done.
Oh?
In the normal course of events, the way of life you've chosen
would be of no interest to me.
But I gave your mother a solemn promise.
Don't mistake me, it was a solemn promise to a dying woman,
who suspected and feared for her daughter's nature.
I beg your pardon?
Your mother wasn't blind.
She could see, as we all can,
your unhappy inclinations towards immodesty.
Mrs Thornton, how dare you!
I'm sure you're aware
of the degrading public spectacle you're making of yourself.
I see.
I was seen on a railway station late at night,
my arms around a gentleman.
You confess it.
Can you think of no other circumstance,
knowing the harm you're dolng to a woman's character?
Can you not concelve of another explanation?
It is for you to justify yourself to me.
Oh, no, Mrs Thornton, you are wrong!
When innocence must justify itself,
then soclety becomes the slave of the evil-minded.
You are the accuser, Mrs Thornton. I hope you are sure of your grounds.
For I need not, nor will not justify myself.
Have you anything more to say?
No.
Then you must allow me to leave you.
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Север и юг (1975) ч3 (North & South)

4968 Folder Collection
smileyayu published on November 15, 2014
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