Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

How exactly are you a fan? How do you resemble a way of keeping cool?

She's vanished into the ether, sir. Where can she be?

- How does 1860 sound? - What happened in 1860?

This is precisely the sort of cheap mummery I strive to unmask.

After all these revelations, there's one mystery you still haven't explained.

Look... you don't understand what's going on.

- I can't. - You can.

I know they don't. I know corpses weren't walking around in 1869.

I've tried to make sense of it, sir.

Can it be that I have the world entirely wrong?

- This girl knows nothing. - Don't antagonise her.

I shall take the mail coach back to London, post-haste.

You said you were few in number.

You look beautiful.

She's cold. She's dead. What did you do to her?

And we will... as soon as I get that dead old woman locked up.

Doesn't it change history if he writes about blue ghosts?

What do you think I am, an urchin? I went every Sunday, nice and proper.

Get out! I won't leave her while she's in danger.

That's more like it.

What's wrong with this jumper?

We are so very few - the last of our kind. We face extinction.

- Not wrong. There's just more to learn. - I've always railed against the fantasist.

Give yourself to glory. Sacrifice your lives to the Gelth.

At such a cost. The poor child.

- I demand to see your master. - He's not in.