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Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips
If not, we can provide a small bag, you can take them home at the end.
He called me a murderer.
My God. A whole London street just up and disappeared
But it can't be. She's dead -- she isn't breathing.
You can never resist a mystery.
Details won't add up. Reality will have glitches in it.
Please help me!
Let's call it a misdirection circuit.
Lock me up, throw us out, anything but this.
OK, that's... slightly odd. But nice.
Rigsy, your phone.
Like when you try to read the same simple sentence three times over...
Clara!
It normalises everything you see,
It was all just your standard human lies...
- Unless she had something to hide. - Murderer!
She means for us to release your mother,
Some of your greatest enemies are within a few feet of you.
There will be no revenge.
Just don't call me Rigsy.
I don't want your TARDIS. That's not what this is about.
and once we turn on each other in here, that's it.
Ssh! Go on, I've always wanted a tattoo.
Murderer.
the other looks behind her, into the past.
Just keep looking straight down and...
- What are you doing running round getting tattoos when there's... - Shh!
Call me Pudding Brain, call me Local Knowledge, whatever.
places it within the compass of your expectations, your experiences.
I saw through the circuit again. I saw them.
and there's so very much of both.
that it isn't Rigsy. And fast.
OK. All right.
'Come and take a look at it. Please.'
- Don't want your kind round here. - Murderer!
No!
She's dead.
they're not going to come forward. The way they look at me...
Hang tight. We'll be right there.
I do as they tell me, and the street is safe.
It's like they've wiped it, but only the last day.