Sword swinging, he interrogates the King, shouting that he cares not about consequence. Gertrude is quite a wreck, but the evil King holds his calm; he does not shrink before the fury of his hunter, as he shriveled before me. “Why, now,” says Claudius, cloyingly, “you speak like a good child and a true gentleman … . I am guiltless of your father’s death, and am most sensibly in grief for it” At this, I sound a loud, wet raspberry! The King hears me and motions to an attendant. “Let her come in.” “How now,” stammers Laertes, “what noise is that?” In answer, the attendant brings me forth, then steps away quickly, probably because I am picking at imaginary nits I pretend to spy in his hair. He leaves me in the center of the room, where I set to chewing my nails. My hair is more wild than before; I’ve tied wide sections into fat knots, which protrude from my scalp like furry growths. I begin to whistle. “Oh heat, dry up my brains!” Laertes gasps. “Tears seven times salt, burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!”
