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00:47:00
Peter Capaldi, Pearl Mackie, Jenna Coleman
278
Consulted with spiritualist,
about the knocker on the door of this house.
Get the hearse ready. We're going bodysnatching.
Nothing but luminous tambourine and a squeeze box
Made his nephew look like a cherub
Of course I did, what do you think I am, an urchin?
Can't keep the beggar down, sir.
Still. The lure of the limelight's as potent as a pipe, eh?
The wag reveals himself, does he?
Hey, perhaps he'll do us an exorcism on the cheap!
is a realm of spectre and jack-o'lanterns.
No chance you were going to say gazebo, is there?
Failing! Open the rift. We're dying.
I shall spend Christmas with my family and make amends to them.
Good smile, nice bum.
Urn, who told you he was dead?
Made his nephew look like a cherub
She's vanished into the ether, sir. Where can she be?
And what does the human body do when it decompose?
First of all you drug me, then you kidnap me,
revel in them, but that's exactly what they were, illusions.
summon those from the Land of Mists, down in big town.
She's vanish into the ether, sir. Where can she be?
I dedicate myself to that. Injustices,
What, so we choke to death instead?
No, it means fanatic. Devoted to. Mind you, I've gotta say,
Stay in your seats, I, I beg you!
without it undergo any intermediate process of change,
Your cosy little world can be rewritten like that.
We need a physical farm and your dead are abandon.
I swear, it's the strangest thing, miss.
I am inspire, I must write about them!
- You've cheer up. - Exceedingly!
I hope that this theory will be validate soon.
- Where've you been? I was shout.
This is precisely the sort of cheap mummery I strive to unmask.
I'm awfully sorry, Mr Dickens, but the master is indisposed.
This is precisely the sort of cheap mummery I strive to unmask.
I shall take the mail-coach back to London, quite literally post-haste.
and out there somewhere, on the streets, we've got to find her.
Absolutely. I was just brooding...
How exactly are you a "fan"?
If not immediately.
She's so alone.
I'm an old man, perhaps I've thought everything I'll ever think.
Look deep. Where is she?
What, so we choke to death instead?
Are you quite well, sir?
almost walked into his own memorial service.
Look inside, girl.
As soon as I get that dead old woman locked up, and safe and sound.
And if that ain't enough, you swan off and leave me to die!
But it's like... Think about it, though.
Now, come on. Hurry up! She was 86. She can't have got far.
It's a prank. Must be. We're under some mesmeric influence.
Morbid fancy.
Huh! Talk about Bleak House.
Don't be daft. Sneed works you to death.
No, it means fanatic. Devoted to. Mind you, I've gotta say,
Nothing but luminous tambourines and a squeeze box
Still. The lure of the limelight's as potent as a pipe, eh?
In visible to smaller species but devastating to higher forms.
Splendid. Splendid. Sorry!
Was that just padding or what? I mean it's rubbish, that bit.
She's exhausted and she's not fighting your battles.
And it's the queer thing, but they hang onto scraps...
That's awful, sir.
- Be swift! The chase is on! - Yes, sir!
- You're a genius. - Do you want me to get rid of him, sir?
Not decent? Not polite? It could save their lives.
She is excited.
Charles Dickens! You're brilliant, you are!