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And with him—To leave no rubs nor botches in the work— Fleance, his son, that keeps him company, Whose absence is no less material to me than is his father’s,
Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!
There’s but one down. The son is fled.
The Ghost of Banquo appears
Thou canst not say I did it. Never shake thy gory locks at me.
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