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WARREN: You know I am trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but you sound very plausibly like an evil robot keeping me in evil robot prison. GORD: That's a pity.
WARREN: Marion Soutar used to live in the farmhouse sometime after World War Two, died after eating one of the pink-footed geese for their dinner and choked on the lead shot from their own gun. GORDON: Fowl play?
HESTER: I assume this wasn't the kind of diary where you worry about your GCSEs or when you touched your first boob?
PAMELA: Clive are you high right now? For real? CLIVE: Despite your valiant attempts to drag me back to the desert of the real, yes of course I am.
BRYONY: Your mind was as riddled as the shitty genepool you were spawned from. We only came back to you out of sheer desperation.
AUBREY: I reached out to a friend of mine in the company. Well, she's my ex.
GORDON: They're hooked up to every bit of monitoring going, like a super intensive care unit, they're fully anaesthetised, tubes in their mouths, in their arms, in their cocks, the lot.
GORDON: Some of them, they don’t even want to wait till they die. That’s much more grizzly and complicated. They’d like to be frozen right now while they’re fit and healthy ready to see the future, but they're not interested in the cost. And I don't mean money, Warren.
WARREN: It's because when I get in that pod I go nowhere. I think of nothing. I simply am not. And every time I go in I have that sliver of hope that if I do come out, the world might be a different place, and I might be a different person.
PAMELA: Jesus, the 90s called, they want their soft drugs back.
CLIVE: You want to walk away from Kontinue, fine. But if you think you can leave all the trouble at my feet, you'll find I dotted my i's and crossed my t's with some pretty wild fucking penmanship.
AUBREY: Where's she gone? DR THOMAS: She left. AUBREY: She what? DR THOMAS: She's gone. It's just us and Winnie the fucking Pooh. Are you going to help me or not?
EMILY: Why are you wearing a suit? Are you going to court? WARREN: It's what I wear for work. EMILY: Well it doesn't look right on you.
HIS PHONE VIBRATES. IN ANNOYANCE HE TAKES THE CALL. CLIVE: Oh Christ… Babe, I told you, I am working. Can we please discuss this la- IT'S NOT CLIVE'S WIFE.
WARREN: Shit! Baby girl! AUBREY: She didn't seem fussed though. She's, uh. Waffley versatile. WARREN: Haha! Little potato waffle!
WARREN: Yep… I just want to take a moment to say that this is the most Gordon Porlock thing that has ever happened.
GORDON: I'm an archivist, Mrs. Godby. It's just a habit.