Going Postal (3/6)

Two

& Lipwig: I must ask everyone to be patient. We weren’t expecting quite such an enthusiastic response. But stamps are on their way and we have a special offer. The new express delivery for Sto Lat leaves on the hour to arrive this afternoon. And at half the cost of a clacks message.
    Groat: But we don’t have an express delivery, sir.
    Lipwig: We do now.


& Adora: You’ve made a big impression on Pump 19.
    Lipwig: Thank you.
    Adora: Personally, I think you’re a phoney*. But business is business.


& Adora: So. This is what you meant by free uniforms?
    Lipwig: Think of it as a badge of honour.
    Mr. Pump: Next!


& Lipwig: Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look when considering violence?
    Adora: Violence and retribution.


& Adora: My father was the founder of the clacks. It was his great vision. He was no businessman. He borrowed money and mortgaged everything to build the first system.
    Lipwig: The clacks was an instant hit. He’d have made a fortune.
    Adora: Do I look like an heiress*? Black August. ... The collapse of the Cabbage Growers’ Bank. Remember that?
    Lipwig: Erm, vaguely.
    Adora: The bank fell victim to fake bond fraud. Had to call in all its loans, the biggest of which was my father’s. You’re looking pale.
    Lipwig: Hmm? Um... It’s paint fumes.


& Hobson: Are you the one who wants some extra fizz* in ’is ’orse?
    Lipwig: You must be from Hobson’s livery?
    Hobson: I am ’Obson. And I’ve brought you Boris. ’Ad all the kids you want, ’ave you?


& Lipwig: Ladies and gentlemen! You see the raw power of nature we’ve harnessed... to deliver your post. Miss Dearheart. Let him go!


& Adora: Boris. You have been a very naughty* boy. And you know what happens to naughty boys?


& Lipwig: Oh, you seem to have the Boris touch. I don’t suppose you’d care for a ride?
    Adora: I hardly know you.
    Lipwig: I’m rather banking* on that.
    Adora: Smooth answer. Slick*.


& Lipwig: When you look at me like that, I wish I was a better man.
    Adora: You’re a man with vision. Maybe that counts as better.

---

& Reacher: Mr. Gryle, what exactly have you found out about Moist von Lipwig?
    Mr. Gryle: Father dead. Mother dead. Sent away to school. Bullied. Ran away. Vanished. {...}
    Reacher: Well, Mr Gryle. This postmaster is a nuisance.
    Mr. Gryle: Understood.
    Reacher: Deal with him for me.
    Mr. Gryle: My pleasure.


& Adora: I can get off a horse, you know.
    Lipwig: This way is more fun.


& Lipwig: I really am making progress.
    Adora: Perhaps. But sometimes, a slow delivery beats the express.


& Lipwig: It was the most wonderful kiss I never had.


& Lipwig: The only problem with having a bright tomorrow is you have to get through the night before.


& Lipwig: What are you doing?!
    Mr. Pump: Rescuing you.
    Lipwig: There’s no point, I can’t escape the... I deserve to die.
    Mr. Pump: Your safety is my concern.
    Lipwig: Oh, hell. Last time you said that... Argh!


& Adora: Oh. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.
    Lipwig: How did you know?
    Adora: The answer’s yes. Dinner for two?


& Miss Cripslock: It was dirty, ruthless and back-stabbing, but it made great copy.
    Lipwig: Bad news always does.


& Mr. Pump: Go to her!
    Lipwig: I can’t.
    Mr. Pump: Apologise to her!
    Lipwig: The letters have warned me to stay away.
    Mr. Pump: The letters? Again with this nonsense.
    Lipwig: If I go near Adora again, the letters will kill me.
    Mr. Pump: Letters do not kill.


& Ridcully, Archchancellor of the Unseen University: How many words are here? A million, two million? What about in the whole building? There must be billions.
    Lipwig: Only an academic could state the obvious and pass it off as wisdom.


& Ridcully: Are you the type to burn a book, Lipwig?
    Lipwig: No.
    Ridcully: Why?
    Lipwig: Because you just don’t do that sort of thing.
    Ridcully: Correct. Books must be treated with respect. We feel that in our bones, because words have power. Bring enough words together, you can bend space and time.


& Ridcully: Read my lips. Words do not kill. People kill. Wild animals kill. But words... words have a totally different power. They enter through our eyes and ears and work their way into our souls.


& Mr. Pump: Talk to her.
    Lipwig: I don’t trust my tongue. When I speak, I lie. It’s the way it’s always been.
    Mr. Pump: So don’t speak. Write her a letter.
A written confession... A conman can’t do that. It’s against our code of practice.


& Lipwig: Adora. You look...
    Adora: I’m only here because Mr. Pump begged. That and the stuffed liver.


& Adora: Is it an apology?
    Lipwig: It... It’s worse than that.


& Mr. Gryle: Good evening, a little postman.
    Stanley: Hello?! We are closed. But we are open again at nine in the morning. We’ve got a special on mail to Pseudopolis. Why not write to your old granny?
    Mr. Gryle: I ate my granny.
    Stanley: Oh. Then I’m dead.


& Lipwig: I can explain.
    Adora: What is in your foot is a steel-tipped, four-inch stiletto heel. The most dangerous footwear in the world. I know what you’re thinking. “Could she push it through to the floor?” No! To tell you the truth, I’m not sure about that myself, but I’m going to give it a damn good try.


& Mr. Gryle: And Lipwig make five! I’m collecting dead postmasters. Of course, the fun part is making them dead!


& Lipwig: You killed them? All of them?
    Mr. Gryle: Oh, yes. I am the killer! This is a Post Office closer!



-- Dict:
phoney — обманщик; жулик
heiress — наследница
fizz — шипеть; искриться
naughty — непослушный
banking — ставка
Slick = sly*
sly — хитрый; коварный; ловкий; пронырливый

Four