Paragraph 2: It was silent and dark. It was now or never. Macbeth stared into the darkness. And as he looked it seemed that a dagger hung there. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still there. He looked, but it didn’t leave. Was it really a dagger? Its handle towards his hand? He tried to clutch it. His hand went right through the dagger. It was still there and yet he couldn’t feel it. Was it only a dagger of the mind, an imagination? He could still see it as he drew his own, dagger. It was pointing towards Duncan’s room. He knew he was seeing things and yet it was so real. And now there was blood on it, which hadn’t been there before.
Paragraph 2: It was silent and dark. It was now or never. Macbeth stared into the darkness. And as he looked it seemed that a dagger hung there. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still there. He looked, but it didn’t leave. Was it really a dagger? Its handle towards his hand? He tried to clutch it. His hand went right through the dagger. It was still there and yet he couldn’t feel it. Was it only a dagger of the mind, an imagination? He could still see it as he drew his own, dagger. It was pointing towards Duncan’s room. He knew he was seeing things and yet it was so real. And now there was blood on it, which hadn’t been there before.