Hector had been so proud of his little son Astyanax
You are ANDROMACHE still. You foresee the agony of your son's life - poverty, no friends, mocked by other boys. If he goes to see a friend of his father people jeer at him: "Go away! Your father is not here." He'll run home in tears to his mother. You think of Hector, eaten by worms, and naked , despite all the lovely clothes you and your women made for him.

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