(WAVES CRASH)
(LOW, HAUNTING MUSIC)
(MUSIC SWELLS)
(BIRDS CHEEP)
MAN, ECHOES: I'd stake my life on a blessing, not a curse.
Half of nothing is nothing.
(FABRIC RIPS)
(HAUNTING STRING MUSIC)
(CRICKETS CHIRP)
Hey. Hey!
(GUNSHOT)
(WINGS FLUTTER)
(MAN MUTTERS INDISTINCTLY, ECHOES)
MAN, ECHOES: Miss Wetherell, everything that's happened...
(INTRIGUING MUSIC)
MAN, ECHOES: Anna. Anna.
(HORSE GRUNTS, SNORTS)
Who is she?
I don't know.
(THUD!)
(CLICKS TONGUE)
(BREATHES RAGGEDLY)
Madam.
(BUSHES RUSTLE)
(GRUNTS SOFTLY)
Who is this? Who are you?
Mr Lauderback, there's a body.
MAN, ECHOES: Anna. Anna.
Anna.
(GENTLE, INTRIGUING MUSIC)
(BIRDS TWITTER, SHIP'S HORN BLASTS)
(SHIP'S HORN BLASTS)
(SEABIRDS CRY)
(SHIP CREAKS)
(SEABIRDS CRY)
(MAN SHOUTS INDISTINCTLY IN DISTANCE, SHIP'S HORN BLASTS)
(WATER LAPS)
(SHIP'S HORN BLASTS)
(SEABIRD CRIES)
(SHIP CREAKS)
(SEABIRD CRIES)
(HORN BLASTS IN DISTANCE)
(BELL DINGS)
(SHIP CREAKS)
Can you believe it?
They're proper magic.
Incredible good luck,
so long as you don't shoot one dead with a crossbow.
What would happen?
If you killed an albatross, well,...
the wind would drop, the sun would burn hotter and hotter,
and then two spirits would rise up from the deep ―
Death and Living Nightmare.
They'd play dice right here on the deck,
and whoever won the game would claim your soul.
I don't have a crossbow.
Well, thank heavens, nor do I.
Mr Emery Staines.
Miss Anna Wetherell.
Was this your first sea voyage?
- Yes. - Mine too.
It wasn't at all what I expected.
I always imagined once we were out at sea
that the horizon would form a circle around the ship,
- but it wasn't that at all. - It was a square.
Yes, it was a square.
It had corners.
Astonishing.
- We should introduce ourselves. - We just did.
Ye― Well, yes, but we hardly know anything about each other.
I know you can recognise an albatross.
I know you're bound for New Zealand,
probably to dig for gold.
Same as me.
And I know that your bunk must be in the forward cabin,
because we haven't met before.
And I know that recently you lost a button off your vest.
All right. Here's what I know about you.
- You're an early riser. - I'm really not.
- (CHUCKLES) - Today is an exception.
I do believe it is.
Actually, it's my birthday.
(INTRIGUING MUSIC)
(COTTON RIPS)
A birthday present.
For your vest.
You spoiled your sleeve.
I can roll them up.
Forgive me, Miss Wetherell ― are you engaged?
This evening. Might I call on you at your hotel?
I'm sorry. That was too forward.
Could I come to you?
Why not? Uh,...
what's the name of my hotel?
GRAVES: Oi, Staines!
Get over here.
Right.
Shall we say 7 o'clock?
In the dining room, if there is one.
7 o'clock.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER, BELL DINGS)
(CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
(THUNDER RUMBLES)
(MEN CHAT INDISTINCTLY)
Where's the hospital?
Uh,...
there isn't one.
I found her like this, drunk.
I don't know who she is.
It's not drink.
It's opium. She's a prostitute, in case you couldn't tell.
You're Alastair Lauderback.
We don't see too many politicos around here.
Been reading your campaign pledges
with interest, Mr Lauderback ― roads, railways, tunnels, ditches.
Bring her to the jail.
Something the matter?
I'm afraid there's something else.
(SHIP'S HORN BLARES, INDISTINCT CHATTER)
OFFICER: Next. (INDISTINCT CHATTER)
- (EMERY CLEARS THROAT) - MAN: Hey!
EMERY: I thought they'd called my name, but they hadn't.
- I'm sorry. - OFFICER: Next.
Travelling alone?
Yes.
Unmarried?
Is that a problem?
Not for me.
Sign here, please.
(PEN SCRAPES)
That's one shilling, thank you.
Hey, Chinaman. You're in the wrong queue.
Are you stupid? Get to the back.
Welcome to the new world.
(COIN CLATTERS)
BUTCHER: Fresh meat. Fresh meat. We got fresh meat.
REAL ESTATE AGENT: Three shillings an acre.
Buy your own personal piece of paradise.
MARKET BARKER: Every one a paying gold field.
Tickets covered, all expenses paid.
Come try your luck on a company claim. You, sir, yes.
Madam. Three shillings an acre.
Buy your own personal piece of paradise. No? Not interested?
- Three shillings an acre. - Every one a paying gold field.
Tickets covered, all expenses paid.
Try your luck on a company claim.
- MAN: How old is the map? - This man, sir, is brand new,
and I guarantee that. You, sir, where you want to go?
Mt Ida gold field, I recommend.
Hey! Hey!
Hey!
Stop! Thief!
Stop!
Hey! Somebody stop him!
LYDIA: Drop it.
- Drop it! - ANNA: That's mine!
- Drop it!
(ANNA PANTS)
PANTS: Oh, I don't know how to thank you.
Women in this country are outnumbered a dozen to one.
We must stick together. Mrs Lydia Wells.
Miss Anna Wetherell. I just arrived.
- From? - London.
- On your own? - Yes, ma'am.
Sent for or sent away?
I sent myself.
When is your birthday?
The day you were born. Do you know it?
- Why do you ask? - I ask everyone I meet.
Actually, it's... it's today.
Is it? (CHUCKLES)
Today.
- Walk with me. - (BIRD WARBLES)
So, Miss Anna Wetherell,
how will you make your living here at the end of the world?
I thought I'd try digging for gold.
A fine ambition.
But you know, the real money in a gold rush
isn't made on the diggings; it's made in town.
I myself operate a fortune parlour.
The House of Many Wishes is the name.
I open every night at 10 o'clock.
Cards before midnight, fortunes in the witching hour,
and then, depending on the company,
a little traffic with the dead.
Can you truly tell fortunes?
- I can. - How?
Mm-hm. When I'm asked, 'Can you truly tell fortunes?'
the second question is usually, 'Will you tell mine?'
- You have a head for business. - (CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
You must call on me, Miss Wetherell, this evening.
I insist.
I shall cast your natal chart, find out what makes you tick.
I beg your pardon. I can't this evening.
I have a rendezvous.
Someone I met on board, to meet at his hotel for supper.
You can't read.
ANNA: What does it say?
The Matterhorn Hotel. Cumberland St.
The Matterhorn.
Do you know it?
Very well. I live just next door.
What a happy accident this was.
(BIRDS TWITTER, LEAVES RUSTLE)
♪
(EMERY HUMS 'EINE KLEINE NACHTMUSIK')
- Oop. Sorry. - Oh yes. Very good.
GRAVES IN OTHER ROOM: I just want you to know
that if I make my fortune and you don't, you can bugger off,
- cos it's finders keepers. - SINCLAIR: Cocky bastard.
(SIGHS) Mine's bigger than yours.
And it has a better view.
(THUD!) Oh, ho, ho, ho!
Right. I need a dish, a swag and a map.
MAN: Make way!
Make way!
(CHILDREN SHOUT)
Make way!
- (GASPS SOFTLY) Whoa. - (CROWD MURMURS)
MAN: Lucky bugger.
BANK MANAGER: We have 32 ounces.
MAN: Oh, what a lucky man.
WOMAN: That's nearly £100.
MAN: Lucky bugger.
BANK MANAGER: I shall now test for purity.
WOMAN: (GASPS) Oh my.
- The gold is pure. - WOMAN: Like magic.
Now change it bloody back again.
(LAUGHTER)
Don't breathe in.
(INTRIGUING MUSIC)
(PEOPLE GASP)
(APPLAUSE)
BANK MANAGER: Thank you.
Lots of stuff in here second-hand.
Nah, I want my kit shop-new and store-bought.
Buy used, you buy another man's bad luck.
Ah, there's no such thing.
How can you not believe in luck?
I believe in good luck. I just don't believe in bad luck.
I'd stake my life on a blessing, not a curse.
Oh, look at you, Romeo.
I'd rather be Juliet.
She has better lines.
- Still ends up dead. - (OTHER MEN LAUGH)
(CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
LANDLADY: Pay every night in advance.
You get sick, you get lice, you make trouble ― you're out.
No liquor, no noise,
no men. You hear?
Sixpence for the night.
My purse.
It's gone.
You can't pay; you can't stay. I don't do charity.
I had it at customs. I...
- That boy. He must've... - Go on. Move.
(BIRDS WARBLE)
CARVER: I went to every ship in town.
No one would touch me as soon as they hear my name.
LYDIA: Give it time.
What if we just left?
Could sell up, start over somewhere new.
You know I can't do that, Francis.
A convict, Lydia ― that's all they see.
- Here. - Don't.
It's not a gift. It's payment in advance.
I need you to get rid of someone.
Sorry. (CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
I just― I never saw a real nugget before.
Oh, that's not real. That's pinchbeck.
Five parts copper, one part zinc.
If I had a nugget that size, I wouldn't put it in the window.
I'd buy this whole city and the harbour too.
You know what they call a piece that big?
A homeward-bounder. Isn't that good?
(ANNA CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
Do you need help?
Could you tell me the way to the Matterhorn Hotel?
Of course.
(HAMMER BANGS, TIN WHISTLE PLAYS, MAN LAUGHS)
(LOW, UNSETTLING MUSIC BUILDS)
(BIRD CALLS)
(CREAKING)
(BIRD CHIRRUPS)
(GASPS SOFTLY)
(CHAINS CLINK)
(GRUNTS SOFTLY)
Hey. (CHAINS CLINK)
(GRUNTS)
LAUDERBACK: Surely you can let her go.
SHEPARD: She's been charged with vagrancy, public intoxication
and attempted suicide.
LAUDERBACK: How can you prove that?
SHEPARD: She's a whore; I don't have to.
(CHAINS CLINK)
Let's go.
(HORSE NEIGHS)
(FLY BUZZES)
(HORSE WHICKERS)
You have a body in there?
Do you understand? Do you speak English?
I understand you.
Take off your hat.
Did you see him die?
(EERIE MUSIC)
(GUNSHOT)
(THUD!)
No.
I didn't see.
The girl, she was here with the body?
Right outside. She fainted. Right here.
What about him?
Outside.
Do you know his name?
Staines? No.
No one here with the name Staines.
I'm quite early, maybe.
I'll wait for him. (APPLAUSE IN OTHER ROOM)
(INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS)
(MAN WHISTLES SOFTLY)
(CLEARS THROAT)
(GENTLE, QUIRKY MUSIC)
(CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
Miss.
No, thank you.
(MAN SNIFFS)
(SIGHS)
Look, you got to order something.
Either you're buying or you got something to sell.
(MEN LAUGH)
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
(CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
MAN: That's not an answer.
- (ANNA SIGHS) - (CHILDREN SQUABBLE)
(ANNA GASPS SOFTLY)
(SIGHS)
(DOOR CREAKS)
(UNSETTLING MUSIC)
♪
(BIRD CALLS)
DEVLIN: What's this?
SHEPARD: Do you recognise him?
- No. - Nor do I.
But if this is murder, this gets us everything we need ―
proper funding, an asylum, a bloody chapel if you want it.
This is it. Let's bring him in.
Not you.
I will not leave him.
It's a native custom, sir, to keep a vigil over a body.
He is my brother.
- SHEPARD: Your brother? - I will not leave him.
They believe the soul remains in the body until it's buried.
It's only superstition, sir. I'm sure it's harmless.
Governor, for heaven's sake.
If you come within 50 yards of this body
before it's in the ground, I will shoot you dead on sight,
so help me God.
Off you go.
50 yards. Start counting.
Tahi,
rua, toru,
wha, rima, ono...
Was that really necessary?
Pokokohua.
(TAUWHARE SINGS IN MAORI)
On the bench.
(CONTINUES SINGING IN MAORI)
Mr Lauderback.
Reverend.
(SINGS IN MAORI)
(TAUWHARE CONTINUES SINGING IN MAORI)
Hate to see a man without a drink in his hand.
Thank you.
Girl didn't show?
I suppose I must look very foolish.
Hmm. Well, I'm not one to judge.
I've been waiting on the same woman 15 years.
- She married someone else. - Oh, I'm sorry.
Picked my pocket ― that was how we met.
She was leaning in to pin a flower to my lapel.
I didn't even feel it.
- You know what she took? - Your wallet?
My astrolabe.
Not to sell; to use.
And she did. She bloody learned to read it.
By the time I caught up with her, she knew the name
of every star in the sky.
- You a sailor? - No.
Sailors got a rule about redheads ―
you got to speak to them before they speak to you.
It's bad luck otherwise. That was my mistake.
Your good health and happiness.
And yours. (GLASSES CLINK)
Francis Carver.
Emery Staines.
WOMAN: How many times have I told you to be clean?
Look at the state of you.
(SEABIRDS CALL)
MANNERING: Well, here's a ship come in.
- ANNA: Good evening. - Good evening to you.
I'm looking for Mrs Lydia Wells.
Better and better.
Wet your whistle?
Dick Mannering's my name.
- Are you―? - Her landlord.
Just here collecting the rent.
What happened?
Who are you ― the police?
Miss Wetherell.
Mrs Wells, you have outdone yourself.
There.
- (CHUCKLES SOFTLY) - What are you doing?
I'm just waiting to be introduced.
Miss Anna Wetherell, Mr Richard Mannering.
Mr Mannering speculates on property, Miss Wetherell.
He's one of my investors,
and he knows how to see himself out.
I'd raise my hat to you, ma'am,
but I lost it today on a very bad bet.
Mrs Wells.
Let's go upstairs.
CARVER: You're off to the diggings?
Yes, sir. So I hope.
Hmm. Hokitika's where the money's at. West Coast.
Lawrence was the name I heard.
Sure, if you were here three years ago.
Hokitika's where you want to be.
Other side of the island, new field, totally untouched.
- You've been there? - No. Not interested.
Not interested in a gold rush?
Leaves too much to chance. And it takes too long.
First robbed, and then betrayed.
And on your birthday. It's too awful.
I'm sure there's an explanation.
Well, you've been dealt two ugly blows today, Miss Wetherell.
I shan't allow you to be dealt a third.
You must stay here with me.
You're very kind.
My husband's room is empty. You may sleep there.
- Is your husband...? - Prospecting until the winter.
- May I ask you something? - Of course.
- You asked about my birthday. - Yes.
What does it mean if you share a birthday with someone else?
Hardly anything at all. It's very common.
You see, it's not just the day that matters;
the year, the hour, the minute, even the horizon
all have their part to play.
Something must have happened to her,
something she couldn't help.
It's the frontier. She gets a better offer,
- she's going to take it. - No, she wouldn't do that.
I thought you only met her once.
Yes, but...
there was a kind of magic between us, something absolute.
No, I can't do another. Forgive me.
You never turn down a drink after it's been poured.
- More bad luck? - No. Bad manners.
To a kind of magic. (GLASSES CLINK)
LYDIA: Of course, there is one circumstance.
It's very rare ― stuff of legend, really.
I've only read of it in books.
But if two people were to be born at the exact same instant
and very near to one another,
they would become what's known as Astral Twins.
Their natal charts would be identical,
so their fates would be one and the same.
They would share a destiny.
Let me show you something.
The first thing to understand about the sky
is that it's always moving.
I cast this chart at sunrise this morning. But now...
(CLICKING)
we're here.
The sun has just set, Venus has just risen, and the moon is new.
Look up this minute, and this is what you'll see ―
this exact configuration of stars, planets and horizon,
seen at this time on this day from this place on Earth.
This pattern has never existed before, and it never will again.
It's like a kind of cosmic fingerprint.
Look up at this time tomorrow,
and the sun will have set a little earlier,
the moon will be a little higher in the sky,
a different star will be crossing the horizon,
and all the angles will have changed.
Now, you, Anna Wetherell, are also absolutely singular.
Who you are is here and now,
in this room, in this body and nowhere else.
And just like the sky, you too are always changing.
By this time tomorrow, you'll be a slightly different person
and you'll see a slightly different sky.
As above, so below.
Which brings us to our second lesson.
Every person reads a pattern in a different way.
There's no right or wrong, no good or bad.
There's just what you see and what you miss.
ANNA: So, how do you tell the future?
I'm afraid no one in the world has the power to do that.
Fate, Miss Wetherell, is not a matter of
what's going to happen;
it's a matter of what's meant to happen.
If I can convince you that a certain path
is destined for you, that's the path you will choose.
It's very simple.
But that's not fate.
I beg your pardon?
That's just you.
The diggings are deadly in the winter.
Stay here until the spring.
Two shillings a night, plus room and board. What do you say?
Goodnight, Mr Carver. Thank you for the company.
♪ Goodnight, Mr Carver. Thank you for the company.
Where are you going?
To find Miss Wetherell, of course.
I'll come with you.
Oh, thank you. There's no need.
No trouble. Your first night in a new place.
- I never told you that. - Told me what?
That I arrived today.
You didn't have to. It's written all over you.
Hmm.
Well, goodnight.
- Let's have another round. - No, I don't need it.
No, I've got something to show you. Yeah?
It's a contract of sponsorship ― common arrangement.
You see it all the time.
The sponsor, me, buys your ticket to the goldfield,
your licence, your swag and tent and dish ―
everything you need ― and keeps you fed and watered
while you're over there. In return, whatever you make,
you split down the middle with me.
I saw you, and I thought I'd take a punt.
HOTELIER: Hey, no Chinese.
Well, I'm not interested.
HOTELIER: I said no Chinese. Get out.
Francis Carver.
(SOOK SPEAKS CANTONESE)
Speak English, you mongrel.
(CONTINUES SPEAKING CANTONESE)
(PEOPLE SCREAM)
(MEN GRUNT)
(BLOWS LAND, MAN GRUNTS)
(GUNSHOT)
HOTELIER: That's enough.
(SOOK SHOUTS IN CANTONESE)
HOTELIER: Get him!
Somebody catch him.
(CARVER PANTS)
Who was that?
Show's over.
Get out of here.
Go on!
(TINKERS ON PIANO)
(GENTLE MUSIC)
(MUSIC CONTINUES)
(COINS CLINK)
(INTRIGUING MUSIC)
(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)
LYDIA: 30 minutes before we open house.
Just time enough for a cup of tea.
I know where my purse is.
And where is that?
I went for a swim. I must have left it on the beach.
Ah.
I'll go back for it in the morning.
Hmm.
Shall I make the tea?
Would you?
(FOOTSTEPS RECEDE)
(LOW, INTRIGUING MUSIC)
(FOOTSTEPS RECEDE)
Miss Anna Wetherell. Mrs Pennington's Boarding House,
MacAndrew St.
(SEABIRDS CRY)
Thank you.
(DISTANT INDISTINCT CHATTER)
(HARMONICA PLAYS, MAN SINGS SEA SHANTY)
(GENTLE MUSIC)
(CLICKING)
(SEABIRDS CALL)
(ANNA CHUCKLES SOFTLY)
LANDLADY: Ladies only.
I'm looking for one of your guests, a Miss Wetherell.
- Anna Wetherell. - She's not here.
We made a plan to meet earlier, but, um, she didn't show.
I just want to make sure she's safe.
- She's not here. - I know it's late,
but I'm sure she'd receive me, if you could just ask.
She didn't stay.
Out. Out!
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
- I'll put a smile on your face. - Ooh. (CHUCKLES)
No. Thank you. Thank you.
- (CLEARS THROAT) - You looking for someone?
Uh, no.
I can get you anything you want.
- (CHUCKLES) Forgive me. - You want someone else?
- Uh, forgive me. - You tell me what you want.
Anything you want, I can find it.
- Are you looking for someone? - MAN: No.
ANNA: This way.
(CHUCKLES)
(INDISTINCT CHATTER, APPLAUSE)
ANNA: Would you like a cigar?
Where on earth did you find this one, Mrs Wells?
To the contrary, I assure you. Miss Wetherell found me.
ANNA: Would you gentlemen like a drink?
(THUNDER RUMBLES)
(CHAINS CLINK)
(RAIN PATTERS)
Can I see his face?
You can tell me how he died. Or shall we wait for the autopsy?
I didn't kill him.
What were you doing there?
ANNA: Where?
Do you know the penalty for murder, Miss Wetherell?
To be hanged from the neck until dead.
GASCOIGNE: Dear God.
Who is this?
His name, apparently, is Crosbie Wells.
- Crosbie Wells? - Who is Crosbie Wells?
Quite.
Miss Wetherell? Who is he?
(MAN SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY)
EMERY: To find Miss Wetherell, of course.
(MAN SPEAKS INDISTINCTLY)
EMERY, ECHOES: I'm breaking the contract.
He's dead?
(RAIN PATTERS)
Let me see his face.
- Please? Let me see his face. - That'll do, Reverend.
Good afternoon. I am Gascoigne.
I represent the Magistrate's Court.
I am authorised to collect bail and schedule your arraignment.
The universal rate of bail is £1.
For those of you who wish to pay in pure,
the converted rate is one-third of an ounce.
However, we do reserve the right to examine for impurity.
(RAIN PATTERS)
(ANNA BREATHES SHAKILY)
(CLINKING)
GASGOIGNE: Miss Wetherell?
What happened?
I don't remember.
Who is Crosbie Wells?
Where did you get this?
WHISPERS: It's everywhere.
It's in every seam.
Take it.
Is there a problem, Mr Gascoigne?
WHISPERS: You have to take it.
You have to take it. You have to.
Mr Gascoigne.
Miss Wetherell...
is hereby released on bail.
(SIGHS IN RELIEF)
♪
Gentlemen.
(SOLEMN MUSIC)
(UNSETTLING MUSIC)
(KNOCK AT DOOR)
WOMAN: Mr Lauderback, sir? (DOOR OPENS)
(FOOTSTEPS APPROACH)
The newspaper's asking for you.
GASCOIGNE: Miss Wetherell! You'd better come with me.
Take this. It belonged to my wife.
It's black.
She was consumptive. It was to hide the blood.
Well met, indeed, Mr...?
Ben Lowenthal, West Coast Times.
And times they are, Mr Lowenthal. Times they are.
Shall we buck tradition and take this outdoors? Hmm?
GASCOIGNE: Give it to me.
- How much is there? - I don't know.
Let me.
(ANNA GASPS)
I came to this country, Mr Lowenthal, with two ambitions ―
first, to make my fortune; second, to double it.
I wonder if I might ask about
the circumstance of your arrival here.
I made the passage overland, not by sea,
- because I firmly believe that- - I meant-
without a railway...
What happened last night with Miss Wetherell?
You know her?
The women in this place are few and far between, sir.
I know them all. She was unconscious?
Yes, well,...
it hardly sets the tone for the campaign, now, does it?
I don't know, sir. You found her, brought her in.
I'd call it an act of heroism.
Would you?
I've got a job for you.
(CICADAS CHIRP)
6ft, or as far down as you can go.
Were you his brother or not? (FLY BUZZES)
A man is dead, possibly murdered, and you saw nothing?
(FLIES BUZZ)
Middle of nowhere, middle of the night.
A politician,
a savage and a whore.
Sounds like a riddle, doesn't it? The beginning of a joke.
I've never seen this gold before. I promise you.
Anna, what happened last night?
Anna, please.
ANNA: I went to work.
(WIND HOWLS)
(LOW, INTRIGUING MUSIC)
(MUSIC CONTINUES)
GASCOIGNE: And then?
I woke up.
Late.
(UNSETTLING MUSIC)
I felt...
strange,
like I wasn't myself.
(GASPS)
No, it was more than that. I felt― I felt...
(EMERY EXHALES DEEPLY)
I felt like I had... become someone else.
EMERY, ECHOES: Oh, I believe in good luck.
I just don't believe in bad luck.
So sorry.
That's the opium talking.
But that's the thing ― I didn't take any last night.
I didn't even touch it.
- Why are you lying to me? - I'm not.
You were unconscious.
I can smell it on you now, for heaven's sake.
I'm telling you the truth.
Well, who is Crosbie Wells?
I didn't kill him.
(ROULETTE WHEEL CLICKS)
Miss Wetherell.
Come play the wheel of fortune.
(INDISTINCT CHATTER)
Sam?
(MAN WHISTLES)
- How does it work? - How do you think? You spin it.
(MAN LAUGHS)
(WHEEL CLICKS)
(MAN LAUGHS)
Who is that?
That is my husband,
Crosbie Wells.
(LAUGHS)