[Aberline sits down at a table in the pub and opens a newspaper. Mrs. Kirk walks up to him]Det. Aberline: A pint of bitter, please.[She only stares at him. He looks up from his paper, stares back, and tips his hat towards her]Det. Aberline: Mrs. Kirk.Mrs. Kirk: Why aren't you out with MacQueen, trying to catch that thing what killed my husband?Det. Aberline: As I don't know where the lunatic will strike, it seems the practical thing to do is to stay as near as possible to the potential victims.[a man nearby spits out his drink and begins coughing]Det. Aberline: And seeing that 214 of the 309 residents of Blackmoor and its environs live within, what, 500 yards of this tavern, I was planning to spend the evening here.Mrs. Kirk: Not Talbot Hall?Det. Aberline: Why would you say that?Mrs. Kirk: They're cursed. All of them.Det. Aberline: Unfortunately, "cursed" does not give me a warrant to wander about Sir John's estate at night. Rules, Mrs. Kirk. They're all that keep us from a dog-eat-dog world, you know. Pint of bitter. please.
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