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: Do sit down, Sergeant. Shocks are so much better absorbed with the knees bent.
: [referring to sacrifices
] Animals are fine, but their acceptability is limited. A little child is even better, but not *nearly* as effective as the right kind of adult.
: And what of the TRUE God? Whose glory, churches and monasteries have been built on these islands for generations past? Now sir, what of him? Lord Summerisle
: He's dead. Can't complain, had his chance and in modern parlance, blew it.
: I think I could turn and live with animals. They are so placid and self-contained. They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins. They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God. Not one of them kneels to another or to his own kind that lived thousands of years ago. Not one of them is respectable or unhappy, all over the earth.
: I believe in the life eternal, as promised to us by our Lord, Jesus Christ. Lord Summerisle
: That is good. For believing what you do, we confer upon you a rare gift, these days - a martyr's death.
: Your lordship seems strangely... unconcerned. Lord Summerisle
: Well I'm confident your suspicions are wrong, Sergeant. We don't commit murder here. We're a deeply religious people. Sergeant Howie
: Religious? With ruined churches, no ministers, no priests... and children dancing naked! Lord Summerisle
: They do love their divinity lessons. Sergeant Howie
] But they are... are *naked*! Lord Summerisle
: Naturally! It's much too dangerous to jump through the fire with your clothes on!
[outside, several young girls are dancing naked over a fire
] Lord Summerisle
: Good afternoon, Sergeant Howie. I trust the sight of the young people refreshes you. Sergeant Howie
: No sir, it does NOT refresh me.
: Come. It is time to keep your appointment with the Wicker Man.
: What religion can they possibly be learning jumping over bonfires? Lord Summerisle
: Parthenogenesis. Sergeant Howie
: What? Lord Summerisle
: Literally, as Miss Rose would doubtless say in her assiduous way, reproduction without sexual union. Sergeant Howie
: Oh, what is all this? I mean, you've got fake biology, fake religion... Sir, have these children never heard of Jesus? Lord Summerisle
: Himself the son of a virgin, impregnated, I believe, by a ghost...
] Summer is icumen in, loudly sing cuckoo. Grows the seed and blows the mead, and springs the wood anew. Sing, cuckoo! Ewe bleats harshly after lamb, cows after calves make moo.
: Did I do it right? Lord Summerisle
: You did it beautifully!
: [Irritably, to Howie who is disguised as a jester and holding a "bladder" or balloon
] Cut some capers, man! Use your bladder!
: If the crops fail, Summerisle, next year your people will kill you on May Day. Lord Summerisle
] They will not fail!
] Old Gentleman
: But can fate be altered? This is a question that every religion has tried to answer, and the answer is almost certainly no. But we keep trying... Old Gentleman
: Poor wee laddie... catching him is a game of chance!