Sleeping within my orchard, My custom always of the afternoon, Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole With juice of curséd hebona in a vial, And in the porches of my ears did pour The leperous distilment; whose effect Holds such an enmity with blood of man That swift quicksilver it courses The natural gates and alley of the body, And with a sudden vigor it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood.

One story in one sentence.
It travels quickly and directly, perhaps with the precise trajectory of the poison. It begins slow and sleepily but before a body has had time to take a breath, suddenly the hebona with its quicksilver flows through, shoots through the somatic transportation system, faster than a bullet train.

As far as long sentences go this one must be the fullest. Image after image, it is the summary of a betrayal as well as a death.

For someone without a physical body, this ghost has some of the most embodied language in the play.

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