The next morning, Mrs. Bennet mixes up a home-remedy for hangover, and pleads with Mary to stop practicing. Everyone looks a little hung over, actually. Mr. Collins sneaks down the stairs, and clears his throat. Mary's the only one who notices, because she likes Collins and actually values him as a human being. Mr. Collins steps closer to Mrs. Bennet, and asks if he can speak to Keira sometime in the morning. Keira is terrified, but her mother orders the family out of the room. Now their breakfast is ruined. Great. Donald Sutherland is, like, "But - !" "Now?" Mrs. Bennet says, giving him The Look. Donald Sutherland pries himself out of his chair, and, despite his daughter's pleading looks, shuffles out of the dining room.
In reality, the servants should be smoking and having impromptu dancing competitions in the ballroom, not moving in graceful, coordinated movements and lyrically pulling sheets over the furniture of the house.
Mr. Collins give Keira another pathetic flower. It might even be the same flower. That would explain the wilting. He recites his long marriage proposal. He seems to have dry mouth. When he sinks to his knees, Keira leaps up in alarm. Keira turns him down. He's like, of course you don't want to be "eager." She says she's serious. He's like, no, it's "natural delicacy." Besides, she may never get another proposal. He's not wrong, either. He thinks her refusal the usual "practice of elegant females." Keira refuses to claim to be a female. At least not one who torments respectable men. (Or is she? Dun dun DUN!) And as she storms out, the Bennets burst into the room. Kitty and Lydia are giggling themselves crazy. Mrs. Bennet is ready to slap a bitch. And Mary looks forlornly at Mr. Collins. She'd say yes, you know. Mrs. Bennet chases Keira out the door, promising she'll deal with the "little hiccup."
Mrs. Bennet finds her husband messing about with plants or something, and demands that he do something. For, Keira will not have Mr. Collins, and now perhaps Mr. Collins will not have Keira. "Well, what am I to do?" Donald Sutherland mumbles. I liked it better when he added, "Seems a hopeless business." Mrs. Bennet tells him to talk with Keira ...
... And they find her outside, scaring the geese away. Mr. Bennet reminds Keira that she'll save her sisters, but Keira doesn't freaking care. "Mr. Bennet, say something!" Mrs. Bennet cries. Donald Sutherland looks alarmed. He is very lupine, isn't he? Donald Sutherland quickly gets to the punchline: her mother will never see her again if she doesn't marry Mr. Collins, and her father will never see her again if she does. Badum-ching. Keira thanks him, walks off, and Donald avoids his wife's eyes. Dude. Grow a pair. Mrs. Bennet chases after her daughter, yelling about nervous complaints and such, as Keira stomps back into the house to find Jane sitting oddly still on the stairs. Jane, looking stunned and embarrassed, hides a letter addressed to her ...
... and away drives Mr. Bingley. Wow, he's hot in this shot. Oh, it's because he's not smiling. He looks forlornly at his sister, who is wearing an ambiguous expression and a 20's-style hat. And I mean the 1920's. Darcy, in his own carriage, looks - surprise, surprise! - sleepy and depressed. And the servants of Netherfield are acting very professionally, even though they have no one to supervise them. Yeah, right. In reality, the servants should be smoking and having impromptu dancing competitions in the ballroom, not moving in graceful, coordinated movements and lyrically pulling sheets over the furniture of the house.
Right. The point of that last scene was, Bingley has vamoosed.
Keira snaps, "He loves you, Jane! Do not give up!" Um, exciting false hopes, etc.
Keira bitches about this as she packs Jane's suitcase. All I hear from her is whine, whine, whine, all the time. And I can't get over how ugly she is. Jane, sitting on the bed they share, pulls out the letter and offers it to Keira. She opens it, immediately to the pertinent line, like they always do in movies, and reads aloud Miss Bingley's not-so-subtle hints that she thinks Georgiana Darcy should marry Bingley. Keira throws something in the suitcase as she darkly claims that Miss Bingley is trying to separate the lovers, and Jane protests, "But I know her to be incapable of willfully deceiving anyone!" as she pulls whatever it is back out of the suitcase and hides it under her pillow. Keira double-takes, but I can't tell if she surprised by what Jane said or trying to see if Jane's tampering with the suitcase's contents. The older girl decides that Bingley probably never loved her, and Keira snaps, "He loves you, Jane! Do not give up!" Um, exciting false hopes, etc. Keira encourages Jane, while she's visiting their relatives in London, to "let it be known you are there, and I am sure he will come to you." Well, as unmarried people of the opposite sex did not correspond unless they were engaged, Jane will have to go through his sister, so good luck with that! Moron. Keira kisses Jane on her highlights, and Jane looks guilty, perhaps about sneaking something out of the suitcase. That's what you get for not doing your own packing.
As Jane pulls out, her mother calls, "Give my love to my sister, and try not to be a burden, dear." Great. Now I have no fucking clue where she is going, as her relatives in London were her mother's BROTHER, and her mother's SISTER lived in Meryton. Good god! How hard is it to read a book and get the factual information from it? How hard would it be to say "brother," instead of sister? Donald Sutherland mumbles some unsympathetic thing about his daughter, claiming that girls like to be "crossed in love now and then," and encouraging his second oldest to be jilted by Armando. I see that somebody has a crush on the elf prince! And I don't mean Keira.
Yeah, don't bag on the pocket-sized Adonis. Some things are not to scale. And that's all I'll say about that.
Keira sits on a swing in the farmyard, twists it up, and spins around. I'd like to know how she can walk through some much mud without getting muddy. Can she really walk on water? There's a nauseating point-of-view shot, then Keira sees Miss Lucas and stops swinging to greet her. Miss Lucas nervously tells Keira that she's engaged to Mr. Collins, and Keira untwists the last twist, and confirms, "To be married?" No. Engaged to have a threesome next Saturday. They want Keira to be their third. Yes, of course to be married! "Oh, for heaven's sake, [Keira], don't look at me like that," Miss Lucas says. I bet Emma Thompson wrote this scene. Who thinks that Emma Thompson wrote this scene? Hang on, let me listen to the director's commentary.
Emma Thompson wrote this scene! Drinks on me! Miss Lucas protests that there's no reason why she won't be happy, and Keira cries, "But he's ridiculous!" "Oh, hush," Miss Lucas scolds. Yeah, don't bag on the pocket-sized Adonis. Some things are not to scale. And that's all I'll say about that. This scene makes no sense to me, because Miss Lucas is, if anything, a pragmatic lover. She doesn't think highly of men or matrimony, so why should she apologize about marrying Mr. Collins? From her perspective, Keira made a foolish choice in turning him down. Miss Lucas should be giving her condolences to Keira for losing an eligible choice, while dancing a victory dance because she managed to snatch up a good one at twenty-seven. But Emma Thompson will not be moved by logic, or by historical accuracy, or by the character's established characteristics. Miss Lucas cries that not everybody can afford to be romantic, and that she's getting a comfortable home and protection, and she's thankful, and she's twenty-seven, and she has no money, and she's a burden to her parents, and she scared! "So don't you judge me, [Keira]. Don't you dare judge me!" Keira looks sad as I shake my fist at the sky, and yell, "Emmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaa!"
Keira's like, "This ugly earth-tone man-coat that I'm wearing IS my best dress! I'm supposed to be ugly in this movie!"
Swingin' montage o' the season change. How did a sailboat end up in their yard? No, really. Is it an airboat or something? Is the mud deeper than it looks? I entertain myself with the thought that Keira refuses to move from the swing for about a month, while the rain and the bison come and go. Keira voice-overs her reply to the newly married Mrs. Collins's letter. It sounds like a really boring letter, about roads and furniture and such. Keira mentions that the Militia have gone away (somewhere, a poor lowly
blacksmith footsoldier cries at his reduced screen-time), everything is really boring, so she's glad to visit Mrs. Collins! Keira is a foul-weather friend; that is, she expects her friends to be with her when she's experiencing foul weather. Keira rides up to Mr. Collins's humble abode, leaps out, is not stiff despite the long drive, and hungs her friend. Somewhere with Armando, Mrs. Collins's sister and father also cry. They were not invited. Their own relative hates them.
Mr. Collins talks to himself about his cute little garden, which matches his cute little self, as Mrs. Collins rather rudely brushes by him with Keira, and Mr. Collins nervously supposes to no one that "any young lady would be happy to be the mistress of such a house," before he hears the door to Mrs. Collins's parlor being slammed. Ah! Marital felicity.
"We shan't be disturbed here," Mrs. Collins says bluntly. This parlor is Her Parlor. Keira stares at her like she's grown tentacles since they last saw each other. Perhaps deliberately ignoring her coldness, Mrs. Collins gushes that it's SO GREAT running her OWN HOUSE! At that moment, Mr. Collins's voice floats through the window, calling Mrs. Collins. "Has the pig escaped again?" Mrs. Collins yells. Why does that genuinely charming little line always find its way into the screen adaptations? Rather like that other line about the long sleeves, that would have been in this version, had not Keira Knightley been lifting weights for Domino Harvey and developed some very un-Georgian-like biceps that had to be covered with long sleeves. Anyway, it is not a pig, it is Lady Catherine, who is inviting them to dinner. Mrs. Collins nearly vomits at the news, she is so excited. With real concern in his face, Mr. Collins leans through the window and assures Keira that her wardrobe will do just fine. You know, Mr. Collins always looks like he's going to puke too. I wonder what's up with that. "Just put on whatever you've brought that's best," Mrs. Collins reassures her. Keira's like, "This ugly earth-tone man-coat that I'm wearing IS my best dress! I'm supposed to be ugly in this movie!"
Mr. Collins yells about how magnificent the view of Rosings is as they hustle up to the house (I though Lady C would send them her carriage? Whatev), and it is pretty magnificent. Where did Mr. Collins get that coat? Am I to add "snappy dresser" to his list of attractions?
Darcy teleports into the room, besides a birdcage. I know why the caged Darcy sings.
Mr. Collins, nervous (natch), walks into a very expensive-looking room. Mrs. Collins looks hardly less impressed than he, and has gone so far to dress up as to catch a live bird and pin it to her head. Keira is so over these ridiculous people, and she hasn't even met Lady Catherine yet. Mr. Collins presents himself to Lady Catherine and her daughter, quaking in his boots. Literally, quaking in his boots. I can't help but notice that there's a naked lady painted on the wall who has legs that are longer that his entire body.
Lady C is played by Dame Judi Dench, who kinda weirds me out, as she played the mean old lady in The Importance of Being Earnest, which is like Jane Austen smoking pot. I keep expecting her to ask Mr. Collins if he was found in a cloakroom. "So you are [Keira Knightley]?" Lady C asks, and after getting a yes, looks at her for a moment, then says "This is my daughter," indicating the younger woman sitting next to her. Anne de Bourgh is actually kind of pretty, though she dresses like she's in mourning. Mrs. Collins thanks Lady C for the invitation, as Mr. Collins, who has been doing the pee-pee dance of anticipation, is absolutely unable to stop himself from whispering to Keira that the rug costs three hundred pounds.
The last word becomes "pou--nnndz," as Darcy teleports into the room, besides a birdcage. I know why the caged Darcy sings. "Mr. Darcy!" Keira exclaims, surprised as everyone else. I think Mr. Collins's bladder just let go. "What are you doing here?" Keira continues. Duh. It's his aunt's house, you stupid ninny. Darcy, unlike Keira, remembers his manners and bows. Mr. Collins mutters something that everyone ignores, and Darcy graciously explains, "Miss [Keira], I'm a guest here." Like I said: duh. Lady C, whom everyone has been ignoring, dramatically STANDS and asks Keira if she knows Darcy, or are they both telepathic in being able to greet each other by name upon first sight? Keira says they met in Hertfordshire. Mr. Collins looks like he's going to kiss Darcy. A fat, redhaired guy teleports to Darcy's side, and says "Colonel Fitzwilliam. Howd'ya'do?" I don't see anybody in the room named Colonel Fitzwilliam; maybe you'd better go find him - no, wait, I understand. The fat guy meant that his name was Colonel Fitzwilliam. Well, no one asked you. Mr. Collins is going to have an orgasm, I swear. It's too many rich people in the same room for him.
Her mother wasn't a slave to their education, though, because her children were allowed to run free, like the untamed noble savage of the Americas.
Dining room. They have one servant per chair, because, of course, rich people can't sit down unless somebody moves their chair for them. Lady C snaps that Mr. Collins can't sit next to his wife. Why, she doesn't explain. He switches with Keira, so she is forced to sit beside Mrs. Collins and Darcy. Darcy awkwardly makes the usual polite inquires after Keira's family, and she answers normally, before asking if he's seen Jane in London? Knowing full-well he hasn't, but wanting to make him feel so terribly guilty and distressed that, by the fish course, he turns the table over, screaming, "I admit the deed! Tear up the planks! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!" Darcy is like, no, I haven't seen your sister in London. Technically not a lie.
Lady C interrupts to ask Keira if she plays the piano. Yes, but she sucks. Does she draw? No. Neither do her sisters. They should have gone to town to learn. Keira's mother wouldn't've minded, but Donald Sutherland hates the city. They've never had a governess. Her mother wasn't a slave to their education, though, because her children were allowed to run free, like the untamed noble savage of the Americas. At this point in the interrogation, Keira's soup is stone cold and she hasn't had a spoon of it yet. Are Keira's younger sisters out? Yes. All five. But that's very odd, considering that older sisters aren't married, and the youngest ones must be very young. Yes, for Lydia is only fifteen. But Keira thinks that younger siblings shouldn't be held back just because the older ones are not married. "It would hardly encourage sisterly affection." Lady C thinks that Keira likes to give her opinion, and asks how old she is. "With three younger sisters grown up, Your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own to it." Oh, Keira's just dicking with you. She's only twenty. However, this dickery allows her to finally try her soup. Success! I'm surprised that Darcy doesn't faceplant in his bowl out of boredom.
"I knew nobody beyond my own party," Darcy says. And he didn't dance with them, either. It's not personal, he hates everyboy.
Keira is trying to free the caged bird when Lady C tells her to play. The two rich ladies are sitting on the couch with Mrs. Collins, and the gentlemen are all standing - perhaps because Keira is standing as well, or maybe to reinforce the point that Mr. Collins is really, really short. Lady C, continuing her thought, says that she has better "natural taste" and "true enjoyment" of music than all of England, and "If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. So would Anne." Keira's mind is blown by the satirical possibilities such a statement opens, but worries aloud that when she said she sucked, she meant she really sucked. But it's a tough crowd, so she approaches the piano, as Lady C decides to be anachronistic and thank a servant for bringing her coffee. Keira plays. Ha ha, she sucks. Of course, she sucks artistically, for everything in this movie must be artistic, even the suckitude. Lady C and Darcy exchange a few words about his sister and her piano. "Though you have no instrument of your own, you're very welcome to come to Rosings and play on the pianoforte in the housekeeper's room. You'll be in nobody's room in that part of the house," Lady C tells Mrs. Collins. I think Darcy expresses his embarrassment of his aunt by being extra sleepy.
Trying valiantly to fight off unconsciousness, he walks over to the piano and tries to look down Keira's shirt. Keira's like, you're trying to mess me up! Well, it won't work. "I'm well enough acquainted with you, Miss [Keira], to know that I cannot alarm you, even should I wish it," Darcy says. It starts off sounding normal enough, and then he suddenly bites your head off. Poor fat undervalued Colonel Fitzwilliam asks Keira what Darcy was like in Hertfordshire, and Keira stops playing at the slightest excuse and starts tattling. He didn't dance at an assembly hall! At all! But only because they wrote out the four dances he did dance in the book! Give him SOME credit! "I knew nobody beyond my own party," Darcy says. And he didn't dance with them, either. It's not personal, he hates everyboy. "Oh, and nobody can be introduced in a ballroom," Keira says. This is all a moot point, because he was introduced to her before he rejected her for a dance. I've actually watched this stupid movie, you know. Lady C calls, "Fitzwilliam? I need you." Colonel Fitzwilliam and Fitzwilliam Darcy play rock-paper-scissors to see which Fitzwilliam she's calling at the moment, and the Colonel gets rock over Darcy's scissors. Darcy explains that in Derbyshire, the scissors are always made of adamantium, so the Colonel goes to attend to his aunt's needs. Darcy looks extra-sleepily at Keira's collarbones, and she begins playing again just as he belated answers that he doesn't have the talent of conversing with strangers. Keira advises him to practice. Darcy fights his narcolepsy for a moment, then walks behind Keira and idly contemplates trying the Vulcan neck pinch on her. Oh, the passion.
I must say I love his costume here. All black, as if he's in mourning for his hyman.
Mr. Collins's Humble Abode. Her Parlor. Keira writing a Dear Jane letter and being emo when Darcy bursts through the door. You expect him to exclaim, "The barn's on fire!" "Mr. Darcy!" Keira says. Darcy wads up his gloves, ties them in a knot, and bows. Keira remembers her manners, and rises to curtsy, and invite him to sit. He just stares at her, stares at the seat, then stares at her again. Was she still speaking English? He unties and reties his gloves, and Keira just stands there and looks lovely, and for the first time I mean that sincerely. The lighting is nice, and her hair looks nice, and it's not a profile shot and just - lovely. Keira explains that the Collins's are out buying a new waterbed. Darcy nods, because he knows. He actually came by to propose, though he doesn't have the courage to do it. I must say I love his costume here. All black, as if he's in mourning for his hyman. After much glove abuse, he waves his arms about alarmingly, remarking that the house is "charming" and his aunt did a great deal to it. "Hapelieveso," Keira replies. "She could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful subject." Darcy stares at her, then looks at nothing in particular and stretches the fingers of his gloves. Keira pities him and offers him some tea. "No! Thank you," Darcy moans. They hear the front door open, and Darcy says, normally enough, "Good day, Miss [Keira], it's been a pleasure," and then leaves to go buy himself a new pair of gloves. He brushes past Mrs. Collins on his way out the front door. "What on earth have you done to poor Mr. Darcy?" she says. "I have no idea!" Keira replies. Now THAT was a funny scene.
The Colonel jealously sighs, "She would be a lucky woman. Darcy is a most loyal companion!" SS Kissing Cousins it is.
Church, Testifyin' Hour. I love this scene, because I get to see Mr. Collins doing his thing, even if his thing is being boring, and even if he can't even do that without screwing up and making a reference to "intercourse." Yes, like sexual intercourse. Mrs. Collins looks alarmed, and maybe a little excited, at the idea that they're finally going to do that. In the first class seating, Keira is bored and irreverent, asking the Colonel, in the middle of the sermon, if he and Darcy are to leave Kent yet. They blather about Darcy's control-freak tendencies, and as to Darcy marrying, the Colonel jealously sighs, "She would be a lucky woman." I hesitate to Christen a new ship SS Kissing Cousins. "Darcy is a most loyal companion!" the Colonel breathes. SS Kissing Cousins it is. The Colonel gossips about Darcy saving one of his friends from an "imprudent marriage." "Who was the man?!" Keira yells. Louder, please. The peasants in the back row couldn't hear you. Darcy, himself, is sitting quite a distance from Keira and is seriously about to fall asleep. I know I've been saying it the entire time, but look at him! He looks like he hasn't slept for the last seven days. The Colonel whispers that it was Bingley. Keira is like, but whyyyyyyy?!?!? Is it because she's poor? The Colonel is, like, no, her family majorly sucked, but how did you know she was poor? Keira is like, Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrcy, and shakes her fist at the sky. He wakes with a start and looks right at her. She jumps back.
Darcy rolls his eyes with his entire body. All the good Darcys could do that.
One quick teleport later, and she's on a bridge in the middle of a rainstorm. She takes shelter in a handy gazebo, and is panting and such as the camera creeps up on her. Just like in a horror movie. And suddenly Darcy is right there. Just like in a horror movie. And, yes, where she is or how she got there, I know not. Maybe she was so distressed by the Colonel's gossip that she ran out of church and into the rain, the very rain that symbolized her pain, and Darcy followed her, then figured out where she was going and ran really fast but a different way and beat her to the gazebo and then hid there until she arrived. Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's how it happened.
"Miss [Keira]," Darcy begins. I really should have mentioned before now that he's been addressing her improperly. It should be "Miss [Knightley]," unless her older sister is present. "I ... have ... struggledinvainandIcanbearitnolonger. Thesepastmonthshavebeenatorment. IcametoRosingswiththesingleobjectofseein
Wait.What just happened?
Well, I, like, wouldn't give him any more money, not that I cared about his well being or anything like that, because there's no way my dead father would want me to actually look after his favorite or not fuel his addictions or something, but anyway because I had already given him money and I didn't want to give him more money because money is money and it doesn't grow on trees and gambling doesn't work which I know from trying.
Emoland. Keira is emo in her bedroom. She is emo in the hall. She is emo in the kitchen. She has a staring contest with her emo self in the mirror. Six hours later, she still hasn't blinked. No, I'm not making that up. The sun sets and the candle lights itself. The door creaks open, and Darcy walks in. He puts a letter on the table. "I shall not renew the sentiments which were so disgusting to you, but if I may, I will address the two offenses you have laid against me." Dude, you already adressed the first during the proposal scene, you doofus. Keira would reply, but she's determined to win this staring contest. Suddenly she turns, and finds herself alone. Darcy's voice continues with the text of the letter, as Keira goes to the window and sees Darcy's stunt double riding away. Darcy himself is sneaking out through the bushes. And, yes, normally I would be complaining about the gross inaccuracy of having a young man, with no hat or gloves and his shirt unbuttoned to here, walking in on a young lady wearing only her pajamas, but I think that Keira has gone batshit, so I'll let it slide.
So. Darcy's letter. Well, Darcy's dad loved Armando, probably more than was good for him, and put in his will, rather vaguely, that if it wasn't too much trouble, and if he had nothing else to do, would his son please maybe think about considering Armando as one of the people he could give the living to? But, when old Mr. Darcy kicked it, Armando was, like, "Teh church iz 4 teh l00zers," and was, like, "Gimme money!" Well, in retrospect, it was probably a cry for help, because gambling is an addiction and a vice. Whoops. Forgive the wine I've just spilled on my parchment. Anyhoodle, he wanted the, like, entire value of the living, which is hard to calculate because it's, you know, like a salary that kind of depends on how long you live? And none of us thought to offer him a simple lump sum, because we're stupid. I figured Armando would live to be twenty-four or thereabouts, and gave him the money accordingly, and then he gambled it away in a week. I know. I was there. At the craps table. It was magnificent and frightening at the same time. At one point he had three million pounds tuppence. Then his luck changed. See, that's what happen when you gamble, you get addicted then you get poor, then you write long, incoherent letters to people related to people who, at one point, liked you and ask for more money so you can gamble some more. Well, I, like, wouldn't give him any more money, not that I cared about his well being or anything like that, because there's no way my dead father would want me to actually look after his favorite or not fuel his addictions or something, but anyway because I had already given him money and I didn't want to give him more money because money is money and it doesn't grow on trees and gambling doesn't work which I know from trying. Armando was, like, waaaah! and I was like, call the waaaah!mbulance! And then last summer he suddenly shows up. In retrospect I shouldn't've paid for his hotel suite or given him a key to the house, but I was distracted because this really cool version of whiste had just come out. Anywhoozle he sticks his hand down my sister's dress and declares passionate love for her, and I really probably should have been involved at this point, but like I said I got responsibilities and stuff. He tried to get her to elope and I REALLY was dropping the ball at this point but I'm a busy busy guy, really. Coincidentally and I'm sure this has nothing to do with the case my sister is really fucking rich. So am I. Why'd you say no again? Ha ha Miss Bennet. You're poor and you said no to a rich guy. Now you're going to be poor forever. Because you said no to a rich guy. Anyhoggle it was made clear that he would never get any of my sister's money, but not by me. As a matter of fact I don't recall who did it but I think he was a gardener or something. Nice guy because I wasn't really involved at this or any other point, really. Well Armando's interest in Georgiana dropped at record speed when her fortune was revealed to be all in Confederate dollars, and he kinda left town really quickly and if I had to do it over again I would probably throw him out instead of waiting for him to leave on his own because my sister was kind of Up Set, especially about the Confederate money. (But it was all a ruse! Isn't that clever!) And she was like fifteen then. Actually she was fifteen. Oh yeah and about your sister I can't really say more than I already have so I hope you could understand me over the rain because all I heard from you was pretty distorted by the ambience ha ha. Yours sincerely. P.S. Have you ever tried to ride a horse through the forest in the middle of the night when your drunk? Guess what! It's actually pretty dangerous! Ow! That hurt! Ha ha! A little joke!
"[Kiera]?" Mrs. Collins says. Keira hides the letter real fast and real obviously. She's the worst hider ever! Mrs. Collins stares at her tear-streak face and asks her if she's all right. "I hardly know," Keira sobs. I'm guessing ... not?Also to be continued! As the Japanese say, sayonara.