Doctor: What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands.
Gentlewoman: It is an accustom'd action with her, to seem thus
washing her hands. I have known her continue in this a quarter of
an hour.
Lady Macbeth: Yet here's a spot.
Doctor: Hark, she speaks. I will set down what comes from her, to
satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.
Lady Macbeth: Out, damn'd spt! out, I say!—One; two: why, then
'tis time to do't.—Hell is murky.—Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our
pow'r to accompt?—Yet who would have thought the old man to
have had so much blood in him?