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: Can we move somewhere else? He's giving me the creeps. Tristan Farnon
: That's Kit Bilton. He's having a lovely time. Daphne
: He's crying his eyes out! Tristan Farnon
: Must have killed a pig. Daphne
: What? Tristan Farnon
: He's killed a pig. Daphne
: Well, if it upsets him that much, why does he do it? Tristan Farnon
: It's cheaper than butcher's meat! A lot of people do it in Darrowby. They keep a pig and fatten it up on the leavings. We even had a go, until fate took a hand. Kit Bilton
] Snnnfff. Tristan Farnon
: Never mind Mr. Bilton, It's in a good cause. Kit Bilton
: He were a Christian, he were. A Christian! And I... and now they're cutting' him up and cookin' him. They're cutting' my Wilf up and cookin' him! Daphne
: Oh, I say! Kit Bilton
: I just can't watch. I can't do it. Tristan Farnon
: It does you credit, Mr. Bilton. Kit Bilton
: He turned and he looked at...
] Kit Bilton
: Them little eyes, full of love and trust. He turned and her looked at me... He knew. I know he knew! Tristan Farnon
: Of course he knew, Mr. Bilton. Kit Bilton
] No! Tristan Farnon
: But what did he know? That's the point. It's my solemn opinion that he always knew. Porcine destiny, that's what it is Mr. Bilton. He knew, as his fathers before him knew, that he was destined for your table, to feed your family, to live on... in you. Kit Bilton
: Oh! Daphne
: Stop it! You're being wicked. Tristan Farnon
: I'm offering a fellow human being a crumb of comfort. Have you got any sensitivity? Kit Bilton
: Do you really think they know, Mr. Farnon? You really believe that? Tristan Farnon
: I'm convinced of it. Kit Bilton
: Oh, but that look in them little piggy eyes...
: It's the breeding, you see? Kit Bilton
: Breeding? Tristan Farnon
: Mmmmm. It... it's bred into them, a sort of, uh, racial memory. The look in those little eyes wasn't one of reproach. Kit Bilton
: Oh, if only I could believe that. Tristan Farnon
: Then why don't you? Kit Bilton
: I loved that pig. He were a friend. More, he were one of the family.
] Kit Bilton
: I felt more for that pig than anybody in here! Oh, and when I say that Mr. Farnon, I hope you'll understand. Tristan Farnon
: I do, Mr. Bilton, I do and... and... and so did your friend. Kit Bilton
: Aye, do you reckon? Tristan Farnon
: I reckon! You said yourself, he was a Christian. Kit Bilton
: Mmm. Tristan Farnon
: He was merely turning the other cheek. Daphne
: [snorting with suppressed laughter
] Snorf! Tristan Farnon
: Believe me, Mr. Bilton, greater love hath no pig. Kit Bilton
] Tahahah! Kit Bilton
: Well, then there's the wife. I mean, that doesn't help matters. Tristan Farnon
: Well, she'll soon be over it. Kit Bilton
: Well, there's naught for her to be over! She's up there with my two lasses cutting' him up and cookin' him! Happy as the day is long! I can't bear to watch it. She's got no heart, no feelings... Tristan Farnon
: Yes, well, you have to make allowances. Women are different. They're, uh, more primitive. Daphne
: Oh, thanks! Tristan Farnon
: It's in their very nature, you see. It's basic, fundamental; the, huh... earth mother. Instinctive provider. They can't afford to think about what they're doing to a poor little pig. Kit Bilton
] Oh! Tristan Farnon
: When there are other pigs... and mouths to be fed. Their feelings have been directed elsewhere. Directed by generation after generation, listening to their mothers. What do they hear down the centuries as they cut up chops and serve the intestines? 'Feed the brute! The way to a man's heart is through his stomach!' What chance have they? Even the Queen of Hearts made tarts. Kit Bilton
: By God, Mr. Farnon, I... I... I hadn't thought of it like that! Tristan Farnon
: Think on Mr. Bilton. Think on.
: If you think Mrs. Herriott is a lady, you should try and play her at backgammon.
: Well, hello there. pardner. Tristan Farnon
: Hello, Mr. Wiggins, how are you? Mr. Wiggins
] Well, Can't grumble, tha knows? Doing pretty well theeself, I'd say, from the look of that err... pretty little filly you got in tow. Tristan Farnon
: Excuse me. Mr. Wiggins
: Surely, boy, surely.
] Tristan Farnon
: Hell's bells. Alice McTavish
: What's the matter? Who's he? Tristan Farnon
: Mr. Wiggins; known locally as Wiggins of the Wild West. Alice McTavish
: Is he American? Tristan Farnon
: No, Yorkshire as pudding. Alice McTavish
: Why does he talk like that? Tristan Farnon
: His story is that he once worked on a ranch in Texas. If you ask me, he got it all from watching Westerns. Must be one on tonight or he wouldn't be here. Never watches anything else. Mr. Wiggins
: Oh, excuse me , pardner. Thank you.
: [holding letter
] Tristan Farnon, M.R.C.V.S. Siegfried Farnon
: Never! Tristan Farnon
: Don't take my word for it. Siegfried Farnon
: Now I know we shall win the war. Tristan Farnon
: What? Siegfried Farnon
: The age of miracles is not past.
: You know the way Siegfried seems to think I'm incapable of running my life like a mature adult. James Herriot
: Well, does he? Tristan Farnon
: Well, you know he does. Well, anyway, this time he's gone too far. He's trying to pair me off with the daughter of one of his hunting cronies. A really dreaful girl. James Herriot
: Who is it? Tristan Farnon
: Her name's Dierdre. James Herriot
: Not the one whose coming out we're all going to? Tristan Farnon
: Mmm-hmm. James Herriot
: Oh, well, I hope you'll both be very happy together. Tristan Farnon
: It's no joke, James. I need your help. I can't...
: I'm not in the habit of telling lies. Tristan Farnon
: Oh, it's quite easy.