Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Are you all right?
[Martha whimpering]
Has he offered you something warm to drink?
She's fine. ‐ She's fine.
MAN #2: Move your fucking car!
Listen to me!
‐ Em?
She has a chance for something better.
Traffic accident.
Straight ahead. Go through there.
‐ Yeah.
‐ All right.
‐ Ooh.
Yeah.
But not like that.
‐ Like God carried her off.
‐ Okay. Shh.
‐ Yeah.
‐ Nah, she would.
It's delicious.
[melancholic music]
‐ Yes.
[footsteps receding]
ELEANOR: Good.
So you'll probably end up with a scar.
‐ Praise be.
[honking continues]
or worse?
Aces.
Listen to me.
‐ That's fine. They'll roast up great.
‐ She had another job
‐ She's...
They're waiting for you.
He'd want her to call.
‐ I wonder what the voltage is
[grunts]
‐ She makes bombs.
OFJOSEPH: That's awful.
MARTHA: I did nothing wrong. I... I did nothing wrong.
through the Quinns' backyard
‐ For your hands.
[gasping softly]
[shushing]
MOIRA: Oh, come on.
She also said,
pulmonologist.
Cora's not going.
‐ All right, my love.
[door dings]
[breathing heavily]
About the same?