Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

I'm sorry, baby girl.
I'm sure.
JONATHAN: Is she okay, Mrs. Mackenzie?
Take care.
[clock tolls]
Even a Commander.
SINGER: ♪ The silicon chip inside her head ♪
SINGER: ♪ I don't like Mondays ♪
["I Don't Like Monday's" by The Boomtown Rats]
[knocking in distance]
Mom's got work.
I'll fix this.
[baby cries]
To get away.
♪ And he can see ♪ CHORUS: ♪ No reason ♪
MOIRA: Hey.
[weeping]
My baby screamed for her mother!
I'll take you to Mackenzie.
Back to the way they were.
MRS. MACKENZIE: Yeah. Maybe, a Goldendoodle.
Go to my office.
as any mother would.
Everyone has lost their minds.
And she pumps in her room.
[indistinct chatter over radio]
‐ Listen to me! She cannot grow up here.
Of course, she told me.
HANNAH: [echoing] Mommy?
[indistinct radio chatter]
Thoughts?
[laughs]
[crows cawing]
‐ You're getting out of Gilead.
‐ You wanted a better life for her,
‐ Come on, Nichole.