Bertie’s chest tightened. The serpent stirred.
One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Bertie said: “What if I fail? What if… Germany invades… and I must speak… and I cannot?” the king's speech dthrip
Bertie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I was fff… four. My grandfather, King Edward VII, asked me to say ‘Good morning, Grandpapa.’ I said ‘G-g-g-good…’ He laughed. The whole room laughed.” Bertie’s chest tightened
“That’s your first lie today,” Logue replied, smiling. “Lie number two: you think your stammer is a curse. It is a habit. Habits can be unlearned.” What if… Germany invades… and I must speak…
His wife, now Queen Elizabeth, refused to let him drown. She had heard of an Australian speech therapist living on Harley Street, a failed actor with unorthodox methods. “His name is Lionel Logue,” she said. “He treats shell-shocked veterans. He treats the broken.”