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Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do?
Doesn't look the part. Starving proletariat, desperate anarchist, really? I inherited you from my predecessor, and I'm not sure I really know why.
Seven years ago, I loved a man. Son of a butcher. 25 shillings a week he brought home -- but how was he to take on a girl with an ailing mother and a poor simple brother? I had to find the courage to slam the door in his face.
Do you know the most frequent customers to my shop are from Parliament and the pulpit? The men who uphold the social order of this country are not only rank hypocrites, but their tastes... beyond the limit. I'd have them dragged out into plain sight and torn apart. Their skin and their pretence laid bare.
The detonator is part mechanical, part chemical. Now, this pressing of the ball, that starts everything rolling.
-What? And lead to your own destruction?
And yours... and his and God knows how many more besides. As for myself, I am the least of it.
-What use would you be?
I will have served my purpose.
-Oh, I've no doubt the newspapers will give you a very good obituary.
Chief Inspector Heat, "implacable enemy of terror". The man who kept us safe in our beds. But you'd be buried alongside me. Mark no doubt your friends will make an effort to sort us out as much as possible. Give this up. To deal with me, you'd require sheer, naked, inglorious heroism. Do you possess such? You can't win this game. We're too many for you!
Well, it's a building, so it needn't be particularly... sanguinary. And you'll have enlisted your friends in the plot, so it shouldn't be too difficult. Of course, it would be symbolism, but at the same time, it would be sheer, incomprehensible, random madness, without regards for limits or sense. Pure destruction. An intention to make a clean sweep of the whole social creation. And in that madness... is true terrorism.
No death, just destruction? What, you will be a conscientious terrorist, will you? Well, that won't wash, not with me, Verloc. I prefer to give my stuff to people who are deadly. People who have character. Who have no illusions about what it is they are in.
Circles! Circles, ... Mr Ossipon!
-Now... (Counts softly in french) 22.
-Then have you got room for one more?
We don't just want warnings, we don't just want things stopped, we want things started.
This country is absurd, with its sentimental regard for individual liberty. Harbouring convicted terrorists? It's intolerable
There is a conference in Milan on the suppression of political crime. The British think they're immune.
Struggle and warfare is the condition of private ownership. It is fatal to itself.
-Oh, I see. Capitalism sows the seeds of its own destruction? So, therefore, we just sit back and do nothing?
It's just a fairytale. It's just a bunch of silly men saying the first thing that comes into their heads. Isn't that so, Anton? Words, that's all. Bunch of silly men.
Then why are you here?
-I want to see your guilt. Look at me! How can you live with yourself? Look at that. Look! Look! ... She knows. She knows. Agh! She's waiting for you!
And if things haven't worked out so badly for Stevie -- what about yourself? Are you as included?
-Despite what you said, my marriage is real, Mother. Despite what you thought, we are a true family. Nothing will ever get in the way of that.
You can't pin my arms to my sides, so use your bullets, Chief Inspector. Be ruthless. Slaughter me.
-What, and let the public think that you lot deserve to be treated like that? Do you honestly think this state will meet murder with murder?
And morality will disintegrate in its very temple. You understand the game.
Prison has made you scared of your own shadow! Seeking to betray us all!
I didn't realise you were such a jealous person.
-It's just some people don't deserve what comes their way.
Verloc. A foreign conspiracy to undermine our morale, our law. A political cause celebre taken away. Now, the only way to be political about it is to say it wasn't political at all -- to say we don't have that kind of violence here.
-There's still the Professor, sir.
Just put it out that we're still looking for her. The berserk wife of the man who ran the questionable little shop on Brett Street. As for the Professor, I've got a different plan.
A domestic drama, Chief Inspector.
-Did you let them go?
Your sense of natural justice getting the better of the law? Pragmatism taking over?
- I don't think I'm that kind of policeman, sir.
This has to look conspicuous, Heat. Show them how serious we are about it.
-You had other plans for Verloc yesterday.
That was yesterday.
Look, this... this deaf-and-dumb act, it's gone too far. At least his troubles are over now, whereas ours are just beginning.
The law can't punish me any more. Have pity, for God's sake.
I promise you, madam... your son felt no pain.
- But you cannot say the same for Winnie.
"British values," he stated, "must be protected from foreign interference."
Are the hopeful... always to be crushed... by those who do not have the courage of that virtue? Do the strong simply entrench their strength in society at the expense of the weak? Are the imprisoned always to wait for their release and their forgiveness? Is society simply a version... of that brutal prison I spent my last 15 years in? Do those in chains simply await the end of their sentence -- their far-from-glorious deliverance? Or is there a better institution that we can be founded on? Where justice will open up its loving arms to the innocent. Where the strong will help the weak. None abandoned or forgotten. Pity and compassion prevailing. A world of welfare, improvement, and rehabilitation for all.