“If thou couldst speak once more to thy sister,” he says, voice soft and even, “knowing what thou dost now … what wouldst thou say to her?”

It’s a question Claudius has no answer to. When he saw Gertrude start to crumple under her burden, saw her smile slip when she thought no eyes were on her, he bit his tongue and looked away. He knew she was pretending for his sake, feared it would hurt more if she knew she was failing. They were too alike.