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THERE was a time when you knew where you were with Silent Witness.

Corpses (or component parts thereof) would stack up in the mortuary to await the attention of Amanda Burton, who would sigh and gaze mistily into the distance before plunging her scalpel into a prosthetic liver.

She would then slice off a bit, sigh and gaze mistily into the microscope before pronouncing upon the cause of death, never as straight forward as you thought because they had an hour of BBC drama time to fill after all.


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