Whirlpool Page #4

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is the gratitude of his patients.

Thank you, but I can't possibly

become a patient of yours.

You are already.

The fact I know of your kleptomania

and know that your mind is sick

and threatening to get out of hand

gives me a medical position

in your life, doesn't it?

Yes, I... I suppose it does.

With me, you don't have to exhaust

yourself trying to seem normal,

the serene and devoted wife who

doesn't dare upset her busy husband.

Your soul can undress in front of me.

That means that your cure

is already beginning.

I can make you sleep every night.

Nine hours of peaceful, happy sleep.

How?

Trust me. Look at me.

There are no thoughts in your mind.

No fears.

Trust me. I can help you.

Don't think of anything.

Forget.

There is nothing to remember.

Just close your eyes and forget.

Forget.

(Softly) Forget.

Can you hear me, Ann?

Yes.

You can hear only my voice.

All other sounds have faded away.

You will hear only my voice

until I wake you up.

Yes.

You must do what I say.

You know that?

Yes.

Co to the window, draw the curtains,

go to the door, close the door,

then come back and sit down.

Now, open your eyes.

Close the door.

Cive me your hand, Ann.

Put your hand in mine, Ann.

Hold my hand.

Close your eyes.

I'm going to leave an order

in your mind that you'll obey later.

Yes.

Tonight at eleven o'clock

you will go to sleep.

I will go to sleep.

You will fall asleep

at eleven o'clock tonight,

and you will sleep for nine hours.

I will sleep for nine hours.

You will remember nothing

that has happened here. Nothing.

You will wake up

slowly and pleasantly.

Wake up now.

Was I asleep?

You relaxed for a moment.

Feel better?

Oh, yes! Much.

I really feel so rested.

You will sleep tonight

without any trouble.

- If I do...

- (Doors open)

- Sorry.

- Teri, come in.

Who was that?

A woman who no longer admires me

as much as she used to.

Her name is Theresa Randolph.

- Three o'clock tomorrow, Ann.

- What about three o'clock?

- At my apartment.

- Your apartment?

You give that simple word

a wealth of sinister meaning

that brings the Victorian era back.

I work at my hotel.

- More convenient and less expensive.

- I'm sorry.

- Three o'clock?

- Yes, I'll be there.

The Baron looks as if he may escape

with all his palaces in your absence.

Better do something.

I'm delighted to have brought back

your wit.

Barone, perch andate via?

Siete il mio invitato favorito.

He speaks Italian, too!

Excuse me.

I'm out of powder.

- Care to use mine, Mrs Sutton?

- Thank you.

- It's a bit dark.

- I like that shade.

It keeps one from looking like

a corpse in the sunlight.

- I'm Theresa Randolph.

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