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Nicholas Nickleby (2002).CD2

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I see no reason to step in any direction|until you state your name and business, sir.
My name is Nicholas Nickleby.|Miss Nickleby's brother.
I denounce you as a liar|and impeach you as a coward.
- You will tell me your name.|- Certainly not.
If there is a gentleman in this party...
he will acquaint me with the name|and residence of this man.
Someone answer me!
My sister's good name is at stake!
This dog is bothering me.
I am the son of a country gentleman...
your equal in education and birth...
and your superior, I trust,|in everything besides.
It is as much in his name as it is in my own,|that I demand you answer for your conduct.
Here is my answer, sir.
Now, gentlemen.
No!
Come near my sister again...
and I shall not be so forgiving.
The Exchange is now open for business.
You are known to me now...
every suspicion viciously confirmed.
And you to me.
I? What wrong have I done?
Did you not attack the schoolmaster?
The monster was beating a crippled boy!
You choose to restore that boy?
No more than I would restore|a lamb to a wolf.
Then your appearance here|to beg my help is in vain.
You mistake the point of this conference.
We knew no shame until we knew you...
and the degradations we have endured...
whether at Dotheboys Hall|or in the dark box of a theatre...
all trace their poisoned roots to you.
You did not want us when we came...
and it shamed me to seek help|from someone unwilling to give it.
Now our only shame is the blood|which binds our name to yours.
Therefore, your brother's widow|and her children renounce you!
May every recollection of your life cast|a terrifying darkness over your deathbed.
How soon that day may come,|I cannot know.
But I do know that in our life,|you live no more.
I disown him.
I would give good money|to have him stabbed...
and rolled into the kennels|for the dogs to devour.
As would I.
But I am sure he's left London|in fear of my retribution.
Oh, indeed, sir, he has not.
I saw him just now in the city...
boasting of his triumphal attack over you.
I don't believe it.
You were there last night, Lord Verisopht.|I wager you could believe it.
I'll tell you what I believe.
I believe you have|only yourself to blame, Hawk.
What?
If you had only told him who you were,|as he asked.
I was wrong, too, not to interfere.
I did not sleep the night, thinking about it.
Whatever mistakes were made,|were made by the boy.
I am his uncle,|and even I can see that he is no good.
He was defending the honor of his sister.
That is the very definition of goodness.
How can you not be proud of what|he's done in defense of your own niece?
You will be glad, my Lord, that I possess...
such an unsentimental view|when I am managing your investments.
Mr. Nickleby, I am no longer sure|I can make an investment with you.
- Because of my nephew?|- Because of your treatment of him!
And his sister!
When I think of her leaving|the theater that night...
I feel sick to recall it.
Surely there is another way for me|to expand my fortune...
than to enrich the tormentor...
of these children.
I see, from your eyes, you remember me.
If the change you see in me,|from so long ago, does not move you...
It does not.
...then let the knowledge that I am|as helpless and destitute as a child.
- Any man can earn his bread.|- How?
Would you show me the means?
I did, once.
Not again.
It's 20 years and 5 months|since you and I fell out.
Do you remember the cause?
You claimed part of the profits|of some of my business...
alleging that you had brought it to me.|When I refused you...
you threatened to reveal some...|What was it you said?
Hold I'd gained over you in your absence.
Rifling through my files, I suspect.
So I had you arrested|for an advance you had not repaid.
30. That's all I owed you.
Indeed, it was more.
There was the interest.
Seven years I have been gone,|under the most crushing conditions...
to return as you see me now,|ready to renew my offer...
but on terms much easier for you|than before.
You will want this information.|I want only to eat and drink.
Is that all?
It depends on you whether that's all or not.
Are you threatening now to tell others...
of whatever you learned|when you were my clerk?
To be plain with you, Mr. Brooker...
the world already knows|what sort of man I am...
and I do not grow poorer.
- You cannot stain a black coat.|- That's not what I meant.
Are those of your own name dear to you?|If they are...
They are not.
- But...|- But nothing.
If we meet again...
and you so much as notice me|with one begging gesture...
you shall see the inside of a jail once more.
That is my answer to your trash.
Mother...
this is Smike.
- How do you do, Mr. Pike?|- No, Mother, "Smike," with an "S."
- How do you do?|- Very well, thank you, Mr. Spike.
And this is our landlady, Miss Lacreevy.
She is the artist|whose work fills these walls.
I do hope you will let me make|a miniature of you.
Kate, this is my faithful friend|and fellow traveler.
I have been so eager...
to thank you|for being such a comfort to Nicholas.
He is my only friend.
I would lay down my life to help him.
To a new beginning.
- To new subjects.|- To an end of villains.
To finding proper work as soon as I can.
- And to our extended family.|- Hear, hear.
Our family.
- Pork pie, mister?|- No, thank you.
Are you well?
Yes, I...
Only weary.
You look so pale and were still so long.
Forgive me.
There are many opportunities here.
Surely a fine-looking gentleman|is not reduced to such a necessity?
I look no finer than you, sir.
Yes, but I seek a worker, not work.
How did this come about?
Who's it for?
My father.
It's a bad thing for a young man|to lose a father.
I feel more of a child|than when he was alive.
And so I am obliged|to throw off my uncle's protection...
and take care of mother,|Kate, and Smike myself.
- But I grow desperate.|- Now, don't say another word.
My boy.
My good sir,|would you be so good as to wait here?
- Brother Ned?|- Yes, brother Charles?
I've found someone for the position. We|should make inquiries into his statements.
If confirmed, I'm hopeful they will be,|we should assist him.
It's enough for me that if you say he should|be assisted, then we shall assist him.
He has a mother, sister,|and friend in need of support...
as well as the demands of his own stomach.
Compared to us, dear brother,|he appears to have no stomach at all.
Frank, where are those cakes?
- Mr. Nickleby, my brother, Ned.|- How do you do, sir?
Thank you, Frank.
- My friend.|- Thank you.
Would you give us a moment|to discuss your salary?
Now then...
I suppose we should ascertain|his previous...
His previous stipend, of course.
Forgive me, sir, your previous salary was?
1 a week, sir.
An annual salary of 52.
That's rather an unsuitable|emolument for a boy.
For such a talented, prospective youth.
Mr. Nickleby, we would like to offer you|a position here...
working alongside our nephew, Frank.
Based on the feeling I had during our walk...
as well as by the rapidity|with which you ate that cake...
we'd like to begin you on a salary|of 120 a year.
Is it not enough?
- We won't wait long before improving it.|- No.
It is the generosity of it that undoes me.
For the first time since Father died...
I feel we may at last be in a position|to find happiness.
Thank you, both, a thousand times.
- Are you at home?|- Yes.
- To anybody?|- Yes.
- To the tax gatherer?|- No.
What about...
I'd know your face anywhere.
You'd know it better|if your nephew hadn't maltreated it.
Who is this?
My son, little Wackford.
Indeed a specimen|of the Dotheboys's old diet.
A miracle of high feeding.
His flesh, his firmness.
No tears.
His oiliness.
I'd expect nothing less.
And Mrs. Squeers, how is...
Mrs. Squeers is as she always is.|A joy to all them as knows her.
One of our lads had an abscess last week.
To see her operate on him with a penknife.
And you? Have you recovered|from that scoundrel's attack?
Only just.
Your nephew is a vicious animal.
That is why I asked you to come.
Noggs...
- See this package?|- It's big enough.
Take it, please, at once.
"Take it, please, at once."
"At once, do you hear? If not sooner."
He may be a little mad.
I wanted to offer you...
this as a recompense...
to your troubles, though...
it seems foolish...
if the boy is unpunished.
He might come after you again.
Surely he's been punished by you.
Our ties have been cut.
I'm not sure|that he views that as a punishment.
What about the other boy?
- Smike?|- Yes.
You said that my nephew|was quite attached to him.
What do you know of him?
Only that he came to us 12 or so years ago.
The money was paid at first,|and then it stopped.
But I kept the lad out of charity...
which coincided with a period|of usefulness on his part.
- No parents then?|- No.
- No person with any claim on him?|- No.
So he's yours.
And he's been stolen.
Would it not be well within your rights|to take him?
That would settle your score|with my nephew.
Wounding him, not through force...
but through his own affections.
Capturing wayward boys|is something of a specialty.
It's most kind of you|to join me on my errands.
Ribbons for sale.
- Oh, dear.|- What is it?
Father used to tell me...
there were girls who sold ribbons|on the streets in London...
and that if we ever came here,|he would buy me some as a remembrance.
Ribbons for sale.
How much, please?
Twopence for the pink ones.|Penny for the others.
I'll take the pink one, please.
Thank you.
Help!
Somebody! Help!
It's Smike. He's been taken.
It must be the wretched Squeers.|He was with your uncle.
I didn't hear it all,|but they were speaking of Smike.
- Newman, what shall we do?|- He stays at the Saracen's Head.
Squeers, but no Smike.
It's John Browdie.
Is John Browdie good or bad?
He gave me money|when he heard I'd beaten Squeers.
He's very good.
If it isn't...
- What are you doing here?|- Tilda and I are on our honeymoon.
Schoolmaster says this was a fine place|to stay. He's here as well.
I know. You remember the boy|that was with me that night?
Crippled lad? Of course.
We suspect that Squeers has taken him,|just this day, by force.
He's talked of nothing but revenge|since you left.
Could you find out if he has him?
Who do you suppose we've laid|our hands on, Wackford and me?
In London?|Not that hateful, horrible Mr. Knuckleboy?
No, but next door to him.
- Smike?|- Aye!
Me and young Wackford, we grabbed him!
He was crying and begging me to let him go,|but I wouldn't.
What have thee done with him?
He's in the schoolmaster's room,|next to our room.
- What is the way in?|- You must go through the inn...
but the schoolmaster is sitting|in the front room, just by the stairs.
Oh, dear, it's impossible.
I could distract the schoolmaster.|Thee could slip past and go up to my room.
There is a door|adjoining the schoolmaster's.
Go through it, get the lad.
I'll watch the stairs and again try|to distract him when thee come out.
May I offer an opinion|with regards to this scheme?
It seems foolhardy, redolent of danger...
and doomed to failure.|Otherwise, I can find no fault with it.
It is for Smike.
Schoolmaster, I couldn't trouble thee|to take the head of the table, could I?
I'd like to propose a toast to thee...
and thy family.|To thee, Mr. Squeers and the lovely Fanny.
Mr. Squeers...
I'd like to congratulate thee.
I think it's about time for a song.|Come on, Tilda.
Be still. Do not worry.
Thank you.
You are the best and bravest friend.
Hush. Lean forward. I shall untie you.
Grand singer, my wife.
Little Wackford,|you left our bedroom window open.
- I did not.|- Don't argue with me, piglet, go and shut it.
I thought I would have to go back.
Never.
But we are not free yet.|Speed and silence are of the essence.
- Thee talking about the same blacksmith?|- Aye, that's him.
Saw him the other day. I stuck up for thee.
He said thee weren't fit to live with pigs.|I said thee were.
Thank you kindly, John Browdie,|you're an honorable man.
Fine door, that.
Quick. Squeers is outside.
- It's been a grand day, John Browdie.|- That it has.
He was stolen?
Right from under you?
To be literal about it,|and I'm not sure this will dissipate...
your very strong emotions on the subject...
but he was actually stolen|right from over me.
My nephew does not know the enemy|he has made in me.
I shall put his ruin|ahead of my own business!
- Certainly done that already.|- What?
The bank sent a letter|saying you were short in your accounts.
Sir Mulberry also wrote.
- He declined your invitation to invest.|- Rubbish!
The boy is not invincible.
People who wish to be thought of as good|are always weak!
I will listen to every rumor|and every rumble...
until I can strike him.
And then I will strike him...
until he can be struck no more.
Now, my dear, you must...
I do entreat and beseech of you...|You must get up.
Please, a chair, place her here.
Not a word for your life, brother Ned.
Now, my dear sir, you must leave.
Is there no way I could be of service?
...to which they said no.
It has now been three weeks.|She's never come back.
And no one will tell me anything about her.
They never answer any questions on it,|and discourage the posing of others.
This distresses me.
Nicholas, have you found|your matching half?
Then we must think of how to find her.
For when she knows you,|she will love you, too.
This is our nephew, Frank.|This is Mr. Nickleby's sister, Kate.
My uncle says you're quite a gardener.|May I show you around?
Please.
Mrs. Nickleby, would you excuse Nicholas?
We have a small matter of business|to attend to.
Of course.
I never thought I'd find fault|with your brother's statements...
but he has described you|as exceedingly pretty.
May I offer the correction|that such a remark seems inadequate?
He has told me much of you...
and of how patient|you have been in teaching him.
Do you remember the young lady|who fainted in our office?
Fainted?
Yes.
She is the daughter of a lady whom,|when she herself was young...
I loved very dearly.
You will smile, perhaps,|to hear an old man talk about such things.
I have no such inclination.
In fact, I'm eager to know|if she returned your affection.
She made another choice.
A man named Bray.
Inconsiderate of all obligations,|except to those of his own leisure...
he squandered his fortune, and then hers.
Finally, after 20 years of bitter unhappiness,|she came to me...
sadly changed. She was dying.
And she asked us|to help her daughter, Madeline...
should she ever seek our assistance.
But Madeline has sought|these past two years...
to earn her money on her own.
However, the demands for service|her father places upon her...
make steady, not to mention lucrative,|employment an impossibility.
She came to us,|that day you caught her from fainting...
and made the appeal,|asking only that her father never know.
So we came up with this scheme...
of which we are not unreasonably proud.
- It is a very good scheme.|- It's very good, indeed.
Madeline is an artist...
and we thought|that someone could make a feint...
of commissioning her paintings|for a high price.
This allows her to stay at home,|where he needs her...
And allows our involvement to be disguised.|He knows us.
We were hoping you would be the agent.
Madeline, who is this?
Who told a stranger we could be seen?
I'm here to purchase some paintings, sir.
- These three, please.|- Very well.
I want a newspaper, and grapes,|and another bottle of wine!
Yes, Father, very well,|I'll just finish with this gentleman.
I want it now!
Please, Father.
This purchase will help us|pay for the things you want.
This never happened|when your mother was alive.
Sir.
Pray, do not mention to my mother's|dear friends what has passed here.
Father has suffered so much,|and is worse than usual this morning.
You have but to hint at a wish,|and I would hazard my life to gratify it.
Have you ever had the sensation|of looking at someone for the first time...
and ever so quickly,|the past and future seem to fuse?
- The first time I saw you...|- At your uncle's.
And then, that day on the street by the wall.
- You remember.|- I felt such concern for you.
And I for you.
Does that not mean something?
That we felt so much, so deeply,|before speaking?
And now that I know your history...
I entreat you to believe,|I would do anything to help you.
Do you know Madeline Bray?
Nigel Bray's daughter?
Indeed I do. She may be|the prettiest girl in all of London.
Bray owes me money.
What if I were to erase that debt...
in exchange for his giving you|his daughter's hand?
Would that put you in a better frame of mind|to consider my investment?
I should say it would secure it.
My...
the canvas must blush, she flatters it so.
Are they not extraordinary?
I'm sorry to intrude,|but I was passing this way.
I remember your telling me on our walk|how much you like violets.
I thought I would bring some|for your mother...
and all of you.
That is most kind of you. They're lovely.
Thank you.|Won't you stay and have supper?
Why, of course.
Smike, old friend, will you not join us?
I'm not hungry tonight.
You seem so melancholy of late.
Do you fear Squeers might come again?
It is not that.
Then what?
Speak of it, and let me help you if I can.
I will tell you the reason one day...
not now.
I hate myself for it.
But I cannot help it.
Will you trust me to tell you later?
Of course.
My heart is very full.
You cannot know how much.
I shall want two more in a week's time.
Is that possible?
- There won't be any more sales.|- Father.
Not since the news.
News?
What is it?
- Can you not go see her and ask?|- No.
That would arouse suspicion|on her father's part.
She will come to us and tell us, I feel sure.
I shall ask my sister and mother.
Their feminine sympathies|may shed some light.
There is no need. Your sister is here.
Forgive me...
but there is a matter about which|I am harboring the gravest concerns.
It is Smike.
Inhale.
Again.
He's gravely ill.
Every token of rapid consumption|is present.
His only hope depends upon|his being instantly removed from London.
- Devonshire's the best place.|- We come from Devonshire.
Whoever takes him should|prepare for the worst. He may never return.
Good evening.
Father...
I know I am stronger than when you left us,|but not strong enough to lose Smike.
If this is what that strength is for,|then I do not want it.
Not Smike.
This is my room.
Once, when Kate was very little,|she was lost.
After hours of search,|we found her here, fast asleep...
before there was any grave...
protected from the sun by this tree.
Father took her up, still sleeping,|and told my mother that whenever he died...
he was to be buried|where his dear little child had laid her head.
It is a beautiful tree.
It is like a home.
What is it?
Do you remember my telling you|of the man who took me to school?
I just now raised my eyes|towards that tree...
and there, with his eyes fixed on me,|he stood!
Only reflect for a moment.
Granted that he is alive...
and wandering around|so lonely a place as this...
so far from the public road...
do you think at this distance of time|you could possibly know the man again?
Anywhere.
Let us go inside.
I've had such pleasant dreams.
You asked me some time ago|why I was so melancholy.
Shall I tell you why?
Not if it pains you.
I only asked that I might make you happier.
I know.
I felt that.
You will forgive me, because...
I could not help it.
Though I would've died to make her happy...
it broke my heart to see.
I know he loves her dearly.
Kate.
I love her.
I procured a lock of her hair.
It hangs at my breast, in these ribbons.
When I am dead...
would you please take it off,|so that no eyes but yours might see it?
And when I am laid in my coffin...
and am about to be put in the earth...
would you hang it round my neck,|that it might rest with me forever?
On my knees, I pledge it.
Now...
Now I can say it:
I am happy.
Newman.
Smike is gone.
Bless you, dear boy.
Thank God for you, Newman.
Always there to catch me.
But what brings you here?
The young lady|for whom you've come to care so deeply...
- Is she in danger?|- She's to be married...
- To Sir Mulberry Hawk.|- What?
Before I tell you this,|promise you won't do anything rash.
Tell me.
It was your uncle. It was his idea.
I overheard it,|and I'm sure he did it to wound you.
I've so much more to tell you about him|and your dear friend Smike.
Your uncle doesn't know it yet,|but he has just lost 10,000.
What are you doing here?
I come to offer aid|to the unhappy subject of your treachery:
- Madeline Bray.|- Do you know her?
I beg you for a moment alone.
You were betrayed and sold for money.
This web is of my own weaving.|I know what I am doing and why.
I know why, too.|It only deepens my esteem for you.
But you cannot degrade yourself|in your esteem...
by giving yourself away|as payment for another man's debt.
I will not disguise from you, sir,|that I have undergone some...
pain of mind.
I do not love the gentleman.
This he knows,|and knowing, still offers me his hand.
By accepting, I can free my father...
Does your own happiness matter so little?
Father is all that remains of my family.
That is why I have come to offer you|a place in our home.
You have been so good to me.
But I cannot leave Father.
He must come with you.
He is too proud.
I am proud, too...
to know someone...
so good.
Madeline, come at once. It's your father.
He wouldn't stir, even after I tapped him.
Come.
Let us leave this place.
My curse upon you.
My bitter, deadly curse upon you, boy.
Your curse has no power over me.
The structures you raised|all through your misspent life...
are crumbling into dust.
This very day...
10,000 of your hoarded wealth are gone...
in one great crash.
- How could you know such a thing?|- It is true, and you shall find it so.
Your day is done.
Night is coming fast for you.
10,000? Can that be true?
I've invested such a sum...
and I am waiting...
for news of it.
But he could not know that.
If he is right that you have lost the money...
and the money that Bray owed you,|you shall not have my money now.
He is...
not right.
My life collapsed like a house of sticks|the day my father died.
I clung to my mother and sister,|then Smike and Noggs...
hoping, waiting for I knew not what.
I knew not what,|until that day when I opened my eyes...
and the darkness|was replaced with the sight of your face.
It was the island towards which|I'd been sailing, unguided, my whole life...
the dream my father had promised me|before I could even imagine its existence.
I have been happy for times,|little times, since he died...
but never at peace.
Not until I looked at your face...
and saw the universe in order behind it.
Nicholas...
I feel you know what it's like|to be without happiness...
but do you know what it's like|to be afraid of it?
To see the world...
as so conniving, you cannot take pleasure|in the appearance of something good...
because you suspect...
it is only a painted drop|behind which other troubles lie.
That has been my life.
Every good thing has been a trick.
Until you.
Yet I am afraid to take your hand.
What if you cannot or will not...
save me?
I can bear to be maltreated|by the greedy or the weak...
but to be let down...
- By an angel...|- I am not an angel.
I live as far from that lofty perch as any man.
My temper alone, my impatience...
Perhaps I should not list all my faults,|in case I am too persuasive.
You are the one|who is so admirably able and strong.
I am tired of being strong.
As am I.
Weakness is tiring,|but strength is exhausting.
You see, I cannot save you...
for I need saving, too.
What are you proposing?
Only this:
that we save ourselves together.
Nicholas, please. Think of the others.|People might see.
I don't care.
Noggs?
My God.
Ten thousand...
pounds.
Who bade you enter this house?
- I have no business with you.|- Alas, we have business with you.
We have come|to report a tragedy in your family.
- Has something happened to my niece?|- No, sir.
Though we do bring news of a death.
Don't tell me it's her brother's death?
That would be too welcome to be true.
Sorry to disappoint you, Uncle.
But it will not be the last unhappy|development for you this night.
You know nothing.
Every word I will say to you|is based on information...
from an unimpeachable source.
This man...
who'd sell his soul for a drink?
This is a good beginning.
To tamper with a fellow like this,|whose every word is a lie!
Who made me a fellow like this?
If I'd sell my soul for a drink,|why wasn't I a thief?
Swindler?
Here, you, Nickleby!
You say they tampered with me.
Who was it tampered|with the Yorkshire schoolmaster...
to take Smike away from them?
You're listening now, aren't you?
You are an eavesdropping,|drunken scoundrel.
I deny the charge,|but ask regardless, what of it?
I'm back, Mr. Nickleby.
What have we now?
Do you know who this is?
We are satisfied|Mr. Brooker speaks the truth.
A common thief.
A beggar. A convict!
Were you not once married?
What?
There's no crime in that.
But you desired the marriage|to be kept secret...
for if your wife's father had known...
he would have changed his will|and denied you his fortune.
Mr. Brooker also tells us|your wife had a child.
Your child.
Because the marriage was secret,|this, too, had to be kept secret...
and you sent her away.
Hush, my dear.
Don't mind it now.
Let me raise your head.
There.
So the child was put out to nurse, far away.
His mother never saw him,|and she grew tired of the deception.
So she eloped with another man.
Soon thereafter, she came into her money.
You, naturally, pursued her...
leaving me in charge of the boy.
I was told to bring him here, which I did,|keeping him in the garret.
Neglect made him sickly.
Mr. Brooker consulted a doctor...
who said he must be removed from the city|for a change of air...
or he would die.
But he did die. I know that.
At last I can say it.
I told you that the boy had died,|but he had not.
I had heard, like most men,|of Yorkshire schools.
So I took the child to one|kept by a man named Squeers.
I was able to pay the fees myself,|but then my troubles took over...
and I was sent away out of this country.
When I returned, nearly eight years later,|I sought you out.
But you repulsed me.
So I found out your clerk...
and showed him there were good reasons|for communicating with me.
I told him my story.
But just to be sure that the boy|I was thinking of was the same boy...
I went to Devonshire,|and knew at once that it was.
Did Squeers...
know who the child was?
No.
I told him his name was Smike.
Then the crippled boy...
is my son.
Was your son.
That boy, whose loving cheerfulness|and sweetness of heart...
could have been|the life-saving comfort you need...
as all your fortune falls away...
that boy now sleeps in the ground...
by my father.
Nearer and nearer draws the time
the time that shall surely be
when the Earth shall be filled|with the glory of God
as the waters cover the sea
Ring on.
For births that lead to early deaths...
for marriages made in hell...
and for the coming in of every year...
that brings this cursed world|closer to its end.
Would that it had come...
before tonight.
What can we do to work God's work
to prosper and increase
the brotherhood of all mankind
the reign of the Prince of Peace?
What can we do to hasten the time
the time that shall surely be
when the Earth shall be filled
with the glory of God
as the waters
cover the sea?
In every life, no matter how full|or empty one's purse...
there is tragedy.
It is the one promise life always fulfills.
Thus, happiness is a gift...
and the trick is not to expect it,|but to delight in it when it comes...
and to add to other people's store of it.
What happens if, too early...
we lose a parent...
that party on whom we rely|for only everything?
What did these people do|when their families shrank?
They cried their tears,|but then they did the vital thing:
They built a new family, person by person.
They came to see|that family need not be defined...
merely as those|with whom they share blood...
but as those for whom|they would give their blood.
It is in that spirit|that we offer this heartfelt toast...
to the brides and grooms.
The brides and grooms.
We are going to live in the old house again.
And we will walk and sit here every day...
soon, I hope, with our children.
We will always be with you...
and you with us, dearest Father...
and cousin.
NYPD Blue
Na Cha The Great
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