I guess mine would have to be the death of Mary Queen of Scots. It took the fool-axeman three chops to get it right--the first one hit her in the shoulder and made her scream, the second one carved halfway through her neck, and the final blow finished the job (her dog, which she had brought with her to the block beneath her petticoats, was so injured by her writhing trunk that it died the same day). When the axeman picked up her head to show it to the gallery, he seems to have accidentally pulled off its wig to reveal the mats of gray beneath it. What horror.
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