CHAMBERLAIN: Your Majesty, the world has disembarked.

Here in London, Imperial Service troops from each and every dominion make camp in Hyde Park.

Your capital opens its arms to your Empire.

And here that Empire will pay tribute to your reign, to this Diamond Jubilee.

From the palace, you will lead the procession.

Forty-five thousand men-at-arms, a cavalry from your homeland.

Munshi.

Bengal Lancers.

It will be a living gazetteer of your realms, Majesty.

The streets will be lined, the joy unconfined.

Following your lead up Constitution Hill, St. James's to Pall Mall, Trafalgar Square, the Strand until St. Paul's, where the Bishop of London will offer thanks... (THEME MUSIC PLAYING) MAN: Silence, silence!

Assistant Commissioner of Police Augustus Dove will now give address.

Ladies.

Gentlemen.

People of Whitechapel.

As the wider city prepares itself for celebration, the like of which we have never seen, Scotland Yard invites you here today with double incentive.

To introduce you to your new station house, a magnificent building, I'm sure you'll agree.

But first, to congratulate Inspector Drake and his division on their rigorous pursuit and capture of the man who murdered the Rabbi Leon Rutowski.

-(CROWD APPLAUDS) -MAN: Hear, hear!

DOVE: The sentence of death has now been handed down on his killer.

A sentence we at Scotland Yard do, albeit with sadness, welcome.

Now, come.

Mr. Drake is keen to show you his new home.

Mr. Drake, will you explain?

It is a telephone.

DOVE: The line here is connected throughout the station, a system of communication which allows the inspector and his men to speak to each other wherever they work.

Assistance may be requested, information passed on.

Young boys will go to school, not run policemen's lunch orders for them.

(ALL CHUCKLING) Of this, however, we are particularly proud.

It was well known that Mr. Drake's predecessor kept a criminal archive in the rafters of the old Leman Street station.

Sergeant Drummond.

Mr. Reid's files were photographed and their size then shrunk by a ratio of 160-1.

We now add to them daily.

Each and every reported villainy, read here.

Imagine a Stanhope, but of more applicable function.

What do you call it, Inspector?

It is the Micro-Reader.

Inspector Drake.

Might I bring you back to less, er, elevated matters?

Go on, Miss Castello.

As regards the murderer of Rabbi Rutowski, Mr. Dove tells us the sentence of death handed down on The Whitechapel Golem is welcomed at Scotland Yard.

Do you here at H-Division echo that sentiment?

I would prefer to call him by his name.

It was your newspaper dubbed him otherwise.

(SCOFFS) Not so, Inspector.

We simply echoed the frightened voices heard amongst the Jewry of Whitechapel.

Nonetheless, the Inspector makes sound argument.

This borough here has a taste for monsters, for their birthing and nurture.

Then let us hear of the man behind that monster.

Will we have his given name from you, Mr. Drake?

You know it.

It is Isaac Bloom.

A mathematician, part of the same Whitechapel Jewry.

And well known to H-Division, was he not?

He gave service to your predecessor more than once, so I understand.

He may have, Miss Castello.

But that does not alter the facts.

Men may change.

Bloom is no different.

The Rabbi Leon Rutowski visited London from Paris.

Isaac Bloom killed him in a Whitechapel laneway and will hang for it.

Let those facts be known, if you will, Miss Castello, and then let him be forgot.

Echad... Hamisha... Assara.

THATCHER: Sergeant.

-DRUMMOND: Detective Sergeant.

-I need to see the old man.

Mr. Drake has guests.

As you know.

He must hear this, however.

Frank.

Save the shoe leather.

I'm sure it must be near run through and new boots are costly.

Were it not for the fact I think you'd enjoy it too much, I'd take this piece of machinery, and I'd shove it up your... (TELEPHONE RINGING) -DRAKE: Hello?

-THATCHER: There's a murdered man washed up on the western dock, sir.

I'll be there Sergeant.

-Sir, I... -You go, Inspector.

Thank you.

Excuse me.

(CROWD CLAMORING) Stand aside.

Police, stand aside.

Mr. Drake.

My men and I, we are happy to see you.

The elected steward for Dock, Wharf, Riverside and General Laborers' Union happy?

I shall remember the day, Mr. Teague.

-(CROKER LAUGHS) -You are?

The name's Croker.

Croker's Wharf, two ticks upriver.

Where that reefer shall now be getting its freight unshipped, if you will not say otherwise, Inspector.

Forgive me.

I am brought here for a dead man, not to arbitrate in a labor dispute.

Oh, well.

Allow me, Inspector.

Indian fellow.

Lascar working the ships, coloring.

It is him what has put him there!

That is slander, Roy.

Do you accuse us of murder?

Yes, Mr. Teague.

Do you?

No.

I say only that this Wharfinger has found a floater on the night tide, thought to gig it downriver and land it here and see these men go workless come sunrise.

That is 500 frozen carcasses from New Zealand.

Mutton, lamb, pig, 50 kegs of butter alongside, as good a day's work as these men have known all month, and booked for lumping right here.

But if you will now close this dock to mount investigation, then he, who pays no dues to this union and lives outside its regulation, will have his lighterman out on the water in two jiffies and take that cargo as his own.

-This true, Mr. Croker?

-It is not, Mr. Drake.

At least the first part is not.

The second, that those frozen carcasses be brought ashore for warehousing and distribution, that is true.

And I shall certainly be bidding for such work.

You cannibal, Croker!

He's a... That murdered man is nought but some Indian Gugu, Inspector.

And you will deprive London men of their work!

The man's origin is not pertinent, Mr. Teague.

But you are right about one thing, however.

I shall be closing this dock for investigation.

As for who works and profits, well, that is not my lookout.

Sergeant!

See this dockside picked and cleared for evidence.

THATCHER: And for yourself, Inspector?

I go to drag our surgeon from his pit.

All right.

-(KNOCK ON DOOR) -(DOOR OPENS) Chief Piggy, Captain Jackson.

DRAKE: Jackson!

Morning, Chief.

How many?

-One man.

-JACKSON: Four crowns.

And it best be quick.

There's some place I need to be this afternoon.

One crown.

You work efficiently, you will be free to leave.

Two crowns, two shillings and a sixpence and I leave when I say I leave.

Jackson.

Drake.

Come on.

You have "the look".

What look?

Bulldog swallows wasp.

PAPER BOY: Read all about it!

Susan Hart to hang!

DRAKE: This, man.

And what of it?

In two days' time, we are told.

Yeah.

I can do math, Drake.

And yet you still make no plans to visit?

Visit who?

Your wife.

She who languishes in Newgate these three years.

She who will soon no longer be your wife on account of the fact... No, Drake.

No plans.

No surprises, do you understand, Inspector?

-This week, of all weeks.

-Secretary Chamberlain.

It is a happy occasion.

You relax.

Get yourself happy.

I shall "get happy" Mr. Constantine, when you have delivered to us what we have asked you to deliver.

CONSTANTINE: This munshi?

The queen's manservant.

His influence might be feared by her household but my spies have no such worries, sir.

Could be he is cleaner than you gentlemen imagine.

By which you imply you are yet to find anything demonstrates otherwise?

We watch, sir.

We look.

Well, look harder.

He and his moon-faced friends.

There are extreme beliefs amongst them.

And extreme beliefs beget extreme action, Inspector.

We must put an end to this Muslim Patriotic League.

(SNIFFS) That's left to right.

It's quick work.

There is little by which to place him.

But he is of South Asian origin.

Well, that's keen-eyed of you, Drake.

I thought at first, Lascar.

But his hands, there's no callusing from the sea work, his nails are well-kept and unbroken.

Oh.

There's, er, there's some remains of soil from the tread of his boots.

But that does not look like river mud to me.

Not our river, leastwise.

And you pronounce this from which analysis?

It's not black enough.

Yes.

I think that analysis might be improved upon, however.

It's a warm day.

Let's put him on ice.

"Rutowski"?

I think Mr. Rutowski may leave us, may he not?

Now that, er, Bloom's been sentenced.

Such savagery.

DRAKE: Why?

Because Isaac Bloom was a man of thought?

Isn't a man's mind the darkest part of all?

JACKSON: It was a mind much loved by Reid.

"Never knew a man of such clear-eyed intellectual courage."

-Those were his words.

-Yes, they were.

But Edmund Reid was wrong about plenty in the course of his life here.

Well, Mr. Reid.

How is the water?

Bracing, Mr. Ramuz.

Even in June.

Bathing is not recommended.

-ELENORA: (CHUCKLES) Here, Edmund.

-Oh, thank you.

And so, your calculations?

The running ebb current runs at 10-and-a-half, the flow a notch above nine.

These two currents produce what I understand to be a tidal scour.

It's a process of erosion that moves the beach materials, the sand and the stone and so forth, to the eastern side of the pier.

Away from where the housing is built?

Yes.

How do you believe it might be stopped?

I'm not sure I know, sir.

It is the sea, after all.

I hope, Edmund, you'll forgive my father his sharpness.

He has much invested here.

It's understandable.

Should Hampton On Sea become Hampton In The Sea, we will have lost everything.

And so do you see, Edmund, how your coming here is a boon to us?

The community we build here... And to myself, also.

My Alfred gone, I'd come to think my life will be solely dedicated to Valerie's.

Yes, the, er, friendship our daughters have made.

Great pleasure to us all.

What a day we shall have come the Jubilee, the four of us together.

Why is she dressed as the Queen and what do they do, Mathilda?

Shh, Valerie.

Watch.

He makes a kind of love to her.

Mathilda, our train!

Christ, Val.

We must run!

-What?

-The new police station.

That is Samuel Drummond.

His friends call him Drum.

And that is Francis Thatcher.

Which do you consider the more handsome?

-Drum.

-Yes.

Come.

We may cut through to the new underground station here.

Direct from Whitechapel to Victoria.

(ROSE CRYING) SUSAN: Rose, please, stop your crying.

-SUSAN: Mr. Theakston?

-THEAKSTON: Yes, Miss S?

Will you take Connor for a few moments?

Of course, Miss S. Here we go.

Rose, understand.

I am resigned.

That the law of this land allowed me this time to birth and nurse my son... Well, it is a blessing.

But my sentence was always my sentence.

The death that I brought, Rose.

It must be paid down.

And tell me, how fares the Captain?

It is a wonder that you can ask after him with such kindness, Miss Susan.

He is getting about his same old games, not one thought in this world for you.

-Or his son.

-Come, Rose.

I will not have rancor in my heart.

Not now.

And above all not for him.

All who love you must grieve, Miss Susan.

Grieve, and not suspect a thing.

Broken hearts are a small price to pay for freedom.

Low to medium concentrations of calcium and zinc in the soil, which suggests parkland.

Further we have some copper.

Northern and central parkland.

Hyde Park, Regent's Park, Hampstead Heath, Primrose Hill.

No, no, no, it's too wide a net.

Do better.

Gladly.

There's little arsenic within, however.

Well, that's a pity.

Oh, that's cute, Benito.

Northern parks would show an elevated arsenic count.

So you can strike Hampstead and Primrose from the list, therefore.

Now here, those are red worm eggs.

Red worms are horse parasites, -- out in manure.

There's a parade in this city on Tuesday.

A parade involving a great number of infantry and an equal number of cavalry.

And in which park does the cavalry make its encampment, Drake?

-Hyde Park.

Bengal Lancers.

-Drake, you'll need this.

DRAKE: Good afternoon.

Police.

Who is it commands here?

I am Risaldar-Major Al-Qadir.

These are my men.

And do you currently lack for one, sir?

-HAROUN: "Lack"?

-A man.

-Have you any missing?

-Why do you ask?

There's a dead man of your stock found on the shore of a Whitechapel dock this morning.

Hyde Park dirt.

Not too far north of 30 years of age.

Oh, and he, er...

He wore this.

Major Al-Qadir.

Our surgeon, Captain Jackson.

"Captain"?

Of what?

US Army, sir.

Now, Drake.

You and the Major are all set.

Where is it you go?

That place I needed to be, I need to be there.

May I show him to you, sir?

He is not one of my soldiers.

No!

You do not move, sir.

His name is Mr. Sayeed Khalim Abdul Al-Qadir.

Graduate of Balliol College, Oxford.

Barrister at Law at the Bar of England and Wales and...

He was my son.

COTTER: Mr. Judge, good morning.

-Mr. Cotter.

-Pleasure to see you once more.

COTTER: Now no one is on trial, we are simply here for the court's decision.

JACKSON: And that decision foregone and easy.

Correct?

COTTER: Correct.

A formality.

Now this might be an apposite moment, Mr. Judge, for the, er, final settlement of my firm's fees.

Oh, er, right.

Yeah.

Certainly.

As agreed, Mr. Cotter.

Well, Mr. Judge.

Shall we dance?

CLERK: All rise.

What we saw that man do earlier to that woman.

(WHISPERS) Do you think my father has done that to your mother yet?

How was your day?

Tennyson and trigonometry.

My stock-in-trade.

This is soot.

How do you have soot on you?

I...

I have no idea.

How could it possibly be soot?

My next question, Mathilda.

How indeed?

Come, Father.

It is only a smear on a collar.

And you are no longer a policeman.

Open it.

Please.

Thank you.

Right, all this, the details of his work, see it boxed and ordered, returned to Sergeant Drummond.

Did your son share the details of his life with you, sir?

"Share"?

Where he went, who he knew, what he thought?

We spoke for only one half of an hour, three days past and that the sole conversation in which he and I have partook in almost six years.

-Since he left India?

-Correct.

My Sayeed.

-That is he?

-It is.

Forgive me but when you and your son spoke, recently, sir, did he say when he might be leaving here?

-"Leaving"?

-Going home, sir.

This was his home, Inspector.

London, England.

He was an English gentleman.

Oh.

Sir?

Do you know this other man?

This Mr. Hafeez?

HAROUN: With regret, I do.

He made friend of my son in Pune.

Deccan College.

His name is Imran Hafeez.

DRAKE: But they did not travel to Oxford together?

They did not.

And this low opinion you suffer of Mr. Hafeez?

He is a bad boy.

No respect.

-Common, you understand?

-Oh, I do.

Ask about the last time anyone employed here spoke to Sayeed Al-Qadir or Mr. Hafeez.

-(CLAMORING) -MAN: Order!

Order in the court!

You said it's a formality.

You assured me.

It has taken us 18 months to get here, Cotter.

Come, Mr. Judge.

A lawyer's assurances.

Edmund, might I... You do not invite us in.

And I understand why.

That it would not seem proper.

But, there is present propriety and there is a future where we might, you and I, construct a world where such considerations need no longer be met.

Edmund?

Who is she?

Miss Goren?

Deborah?

Hello, Edmund.

Mathilda, I think you might get to your books.

My books are read, Father.

Then if you wish, as you say you do, that I will send you to Oxford, I suggest you read them again.

Or I will call on Mr. Worthing in the morning and say that, "Yes, my daughter would make an admirable secretarial assistant," and that will be that for your learning.

Now, leave us.

How on Earth did you find me?

Oh, it is not so hard.

You are still talked of in Whitechapel.

I expect you will be forever.

There is still no policeman afforded greater respect than Edmund Reid.

Bennet Drake is not afforded respect?

No, of course, but it is Mr. Drake... Who led the investigation which now sees Isaac Bloom facing execution.

Isaac did not do such a thing.

It is not within him.

And who else shares this conviction?

Only myself.

And I hoped... Perhaps yourself?

So you thought that I would now travel to London, to Whitechapel, and challenge the care and rigor with which my friend has prosecuted this case?

Forgive me, Miss Goren, but that is a leap of faith based on no other logic but your own.

I will not do it.

No.

It is you who must forgive me.

I am in your home and I have raised you to anger.

Thank you, both of you, for your hospitality.

No.

Please, stay.

Stay with us.

Eat with us.

Please, Deborah, I insist, so will Mathilda.

Thank you.

(CLEARS THROAT) I gave thanks when it was said that your daughter had been returned to you.

I remembered your conviction.

And... And I admire you, Edmund.

It cannot be an easy thing to grant her the freedom you now so clearly do.

I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Deborah.

I saw her and her friend.

They boarded my train at Victoria.

I assumed that... Soot.

Mathilda Reid!

Mathilda!

In here!

Soot!

Mathilda!

Soot!

London!

-Where is it you go?

-To our home, Father.

It is not our home.

Not any long... Good God, did you take Valerie Freeman with you?

-To Whitechapel?

-She was curious.

And why should she not be?

It is a fascinating place.

And do you not think, Mathilda, on what might happen to her, to you?

You of all... You know what happens in Whitechapel!

I do.

I never forget.

And do you see, my darling, how this pains me?

I brought you here.

I brought us both here so that in time, these memories might be forgot.

But I am older now.

Grown.

And I understand something I think you do not, Father.

That I am made.

And cannot be remade.

Do you not think despite all that you have constructed here that the same might be true of you?

You will go to your room, Mathilda.

And there will be no more of this.

Do you understand?

No more, Mathilda.

JACKSON: I do not write the law in this goddamn country, Caitlin, neither am I a judge, both of which resolve that in the absence of a corpse, seven years must pass before your father be declared dead and his worldly goods handed to his surviving heir, our son.

Forgive me, but is this not the reason why we hired a lawyer?

A lawyer only makes the argument.

He...

He don't rule.

And this man.

Cotter.

He was the best you could find?

I paid what I could muster.

Well, I am glad to know what value you place on my life, -that of our son also.

-Now, you wait a minute.

You think I'm out there running a bullion brokerage?

I am not.

I'm the hired knife of a police division in Whitechapel.

I do not drink no more.

I do not gamble.

And I have saved damn near every farthing I could for our case to be made.

Sobriety and thrift.

You have my sympathies for the many privations you must have suffered in your inevitable pursuit of failure.

I was set on guns and fast horses, remember?

Before even your sentence was passed down, before even our son was born.

But it was you that said, they'll allow me to raise the boy, and you that said that this was not Arizona, and escape should be won with hard cash and not dynamite.

What I want is for you to act as a man ought, to protect your family.

Or else I will die, Matthew.

I love you.

I can't lose you.

Then save me.

There's no time.

I don't know how.

Then what use are you to me?

Guard!

My husband is leaving.

-Darlin', please.

-Out!

(CRYING) You heard it all, I imagine, Dr. Probyn?

All that has been promised, it may still be yours.

-But when?

-(SOBS) In...

In due course.

By which you mean, after I have facilitated you and your son's flight from these walls.

It would seem illogical on my part not to take the promised payment whilst you are still proximate.

Would you see me beg?

I would not.

But men must be bribed.

Our friend, guard Theakston.

The good men of the London Wall Laundry who were to accept the two of you aboard their cart the morning after next.

They will not oblige if I cannot hand to them their incentive.

DRAKE: These are the magazines we took from the dead lawyer's office?

-DRUMMOND: Yes, Inspector.

-DRAKE: No little amount of bedside reading for you then.

I shall get about it presently, however, Inspector.

You are the educated man, Sergeant.

Are you familiar with this title?

Yeah, founder one Abdullah Quilliam.

He was born William Henry Quilliam, son of a watchmaker from Liverpool.

Changed his name upon taking up Mohameddanism.

-Eh?

-An Englishman, sir, now adhering to an Eastern religion.

One he promotes and debates beneath that title.

DRAKE: Look here, Sayeed Al-Qadir.

Seems our dead man was not only a subscriber, but a contributor also.

Thank you.

That dead lad we pulled from the Western.

He's quite some firebrand, he was.

We British, he says, are "seawolves, living off the pillage of the earth".

Hmm.

Such opinion.

Enough to turn his father's beard blue.

Why does that worry you, Bennet?

He's an upright fellow.

Bengal Lancer.

Sports his stripes with a pride some might call immodest.

But I have some feelings for him.

He's never seen the country he serves.

Comes here to pay tribute to its Queen, and finds her capital has taken his boy from him.

You see his grief.

And it moves you.

A father's grief.

Now, Rose.

Am I not to be allowed my regret, Bennet?

I did not say that, but you behave, on occasion, as if it were myself who inflicts it upon you.

And why should you not?

I have not given you what you had a right to expect.

You give me yourself, Rose.

You give me your love.

-That is all I have ever... -Don't say it.

It is not all.

It is not.

You may deny it, but the whole world knows it, Bennet.

They look at their chief of police and they say to themselves, "Well, if he will take a one-time "bunter as his wife..." -Oh, for Christ... -"He should have known "that nothing can ever grow within that "dry old hat that she now keeps between her legs."

You will stop this!

-But... -I will not hear it!

My love, these are no man or woman's thoughts but your own.

Then why, Bennet?

Why can we not give ourselves a child?

DEBORAH: Who believed but you, Edmund, that your Mathilda lived?

All those that cared for you, myself, Mr. Drake.

All thought it but a forlorn dream, wrongheaded and only harmful to yourself.

And yet you had certainty.

You knew.

Isaac did not do this thing.

I know it as you knew your daughter lived.

He did not do this thing.

And think, Edmund, on what else that might mean.

The true killer still walking the streets you once knew as home.

You will have missed the last train by now, I think, Miss Goren.

We shall make a room up for you.

DOVE: Inspector Drake.

It is you who has ordered a manhunt?

-Fellow called Hafeez.

-It is.

He is wanted for questioning in a murder inquiry.

Never mind that, Inspector.

You come with me.

Yes, sir.

This is Inspector Constantine.

Our beloved Special Branch.

-You know this man?

-Come, Mr. Drake.

It can surely come as no shock to you.

It is no shock to myself after all that you here in this gutter once more give shelter to dissidents and vile extremism.

-What is this?

-This man Hafeez.

He is on a watch list.

I would not give that much credence for this man's word.

This peculiar elevation of yours, Drake.

I'm confused.

It's unlikely to be merited by a sudden emergence of brains in that gorilla skull of yours.

-THATCHER: Who do you think are?

-Sergeant, leave it.

Francis Thatcher.

Mother dead.

Father invalided on a coal barge.

Sister, Lily.

Two counts of soliciting before her 18th birthday.

But you are the sole breadwinner in that household now, are you not, Sergeant?

Sergeant Drummond.

A man full-grown and still living with his mother.

Do your colleagues here smirk at such?

Assistant Commissioner.

Should you wish to be apprised of my intelligence, I suggest we leave.

Inspector Drake will join us, Mr. Constantine.

I insist.

As you prefer, sir.

But you need to hear what Hafeez has to say.

(INDISTINCT CONVERSATIONS) The Muslim Patriotic League.

It's mostly an institution which bears loyalty to its Queen.

But there are factions, sirs.

Splinterings that do not envision such loyalty as favorable to men of their faith.

Did I not promise to send word, Major?

I did not undertake to wait for it, however.

And the man who speaks to crowds is never such a hard man to find.

MAN: Imran Hafeez will now speak.

(CROWD APPLAUDING) HAFEEZ: Brothers, we are now everywhere under attack.

And even as our Empress Queen summons her subjects from the furthest reaches of her dominion, her home nation's press makes relentless and vituperative attack against the Ottoman Sultan and his caliphate.

It is therefore incumbent upon us, we, Muslim men, advanced by the privilege of our British educations, to illuminate the path forward to those of our brothers who are not so advantaged.

A path which leads away from this Empress Queen, and toward, perhaps, a more natural leader and benefactor.

He, Abdulhamid II, the Sublime Khan, caliph to all Islam.

(CROWD APPLAUDING) TEAGUE: They find such fault in the country which raises them up!

Well, let that country put these moon faces back down!

(ALL SHOUTING) Excuse me!

Sorry!

TEAGUE: Brothers!

Angel Yard!

Little moon face, gugu liar.

Trying to tell good Englishmen how they must work.

How they must live.

(HAFEEZ GRUNTS) Huh?

(MEN GRUNTING) HAROUN: Imran, evil child that you are, you stand behind me.

TEAGUE: What's this?

You got some toy soldier to do your fighting for you?

My name is Risaldar-Major Haroun Al-Qadir.

I have traveled to London to pay tribute to my Queen.

My Queen is your Queen.

TEAGUE: And yet no white working man of the docks is invited to march in front of her.

No.

We're cursed and forgot.

Huh?

Major Al-Qadir.

I cannot believe you are not at fault for this.

Come!

Mr. Drake, sir.

I believe you wish to interview this man, Mr. Drake.

CONDUCTOR: To Margate, Chatham, then fast to London Victoria, ladies and gentlemen.

(GLASS CRUNCHING) Each night they wipe it clean.

It is not permitted, they say.

But what can they do to me that is not already done?

I keep the image of it here.

You once told me the language of the universe was written in numbers.

Now, it seems you seek numbers within language.

Hebrew, your language, -your writing system.

-Mine is the true belief.

Our language is the true language, because our language is nothing if it is not numbers.

Show me?

Certainly.

This, Aleph.

You may call it the letter "A".

This, Bet.

"B".

Assign values, Aleph, one.

Bet, two.

The Hebrew word for "father", Av.

Written, Aleph, Bet.

One plus two equals three.

You follow?

Now, see, this.

The Torah, handed to Moses by God and irreducibly, a sequence of numbers.

The Garden of Eden.

Kedem.

-Numerical sum.

-(CHALK SCRATCHING) One hundred and forty-four.

Etz Hakhaim.

"Tree of Life."

Numerical sum, Two hundred and thirty-three.

One hundred and forty-four.

Two hundred and thirty-three.

Divide the larger sum by the smaller.

One and a little over six-tenths.

Correct.

In other words, it approaches...

The golden ratio.

The root structure of life itself.

Forgive me, Mr. Bloom, but your thesis is much changed.

I am not as I was.

It is true.

Mr. Bloom, do you know why you are here?

What it is that you have been sentenced for?

The guilt men assume is yours?

Do you know what it is awaits you in this place?

Elenora, thank you.

Sorry, the time.

No, no, it's quite all right, Edmund.

Valerie is spending the evening with her grandfather.

Besides, Mathilda and I have been enjoying ourselves.

Soot, father?

(DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYING) (MUSIC FADES OUT)