"But long it could not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death."

For the girl who chose the rush of dirty river water over the prison cells of Denmark or a nunnery. For doubting the stars are fire, doubting the sun doth move, doubting truth to be a liar, and doubting that he loves. For the fair Ophelia, who was the more deceived.

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