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We all have our favourite demons. A desperate Romeo circles the bushes below Juliet’s balcony, hoping for a glimpse of her bare body, ‘nipples stiffening on powdered ribs’. Adamant of his own sanity, Hamlet chatters away to his oldest friend – the squat skull grinning in his palm. Andromache screams for her only child, ‘spiralling like sycamore’ from the walls of Troy.