And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe, But even his mother shall uncharge the practice And call it accident.

And we have landed here on the crux of the thing. Claudius has meandered his way here to “his death” and it all starts to get a whole lot clearer a whole lot faster. There’s a complex wind up and then it’s a very simple pitch. Boom. He’s gonna die and it’s gonna look like an accident. Boom. How you like that, Laertes? Boom.

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