"TURN, HELL-HOUND, TURN!"
The fight. Leap, clash, sweep; hoarse, snarling voices. Macbeth is beaten backward, Macduff raises his claymore, and they plunge out of sight. A scream. A thud. Silence.
Seyton carries his claidheamh-mor and on it, streaming blood, the head of Macbeth. Real blood drips onto his upturned face.
And being well-trained professional actors, they respond, with stricken faces and shaking lips, "Hail, King of Scotland!"
The curtain falls .. .
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