Mary I. Iceni slouched back in her chair, her eyes out of focus, softly whimpering. She smelled the foul breath of the hairy- faced Everyman leaning over her mopping her brow with a damp, filthy rag. Ith alright, dear one. The thchock of theeing me after all thith time cauthed you to thwoon. I had no idea you mithed me tho much.