| 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. |
