Tom Goodman-Hill: Sanderson Reed
[Allan aims his elephant gun at a fleeing assassin]
Sanderson Reed : But he's so far away.
[Allan lowers the gun with a grunt of frustration]
Sanderson Reed : Yes, I thought he was.
[Allan puts on a pair of glasses]
Allan Quartermain : God, I hate getting old.
[He aims the rifle and fires. In the far distance, the assassin goes down. Reed gapes]
Sanderson Reed : There is great unrest. Countries set at each other's throats, baying for blood. It's a powder-keg. The trouble of which I speak could set a match to the whole thing: War.
Allan Quatermain : Wi-With whom, exactly?
Sanderson Reed : Everyone. A world war.
Allan Quatermain : That notion makes you sweat?
Sanderson Reed : Heavens, man. Doesn't it you?
Allan Quatermain : This is Africa, dear boy. Sweating is what we do.
Sanderson Reed : But you're Allan Quatermain. Stories of your exploits have thrilled English boys for decades.
Allan Quatermain : That I know. And Nigel has done a grand job reminding me. But... with each past exploit I've lost friends, white men and black... and much more. And I'm not the man I once was.
Sanderson Reed : [to coachman] Don't... wander... off.