‘Repeat, "YOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM,"’ said the Caterpillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began:--
‘You are old, Father William,’ the young man said,
‘And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head--
Do you think, at your age, it is right?’
‘In my youth,’ Father William replied to his son,
‘I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.’
‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door--
Pray, what is the reason of that?’
‘In my youth,’ said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
‘I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box--
Allow me to sell you a couple?’
‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak--
Pray how did you manage to do it?’
‘In my youth,’ said his father, ‘I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.’
‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose--
What made you so awfully clever?’
‘I have answered three questions, and that is enough,’
Said his father; ‘don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!’
‘That is not said right,’ said the Caterpillar.
‘Not QUITE right, I’m afraid,’ said Alice, timidly; ‘some of the words
have got altered.’
‘It is wrong from beginning to end,’ said the Caterpillar decidedly, and
there was silence for some minutes.
The Caterpillar was the first to speak.
‘What size do you want to be?’ it asked.
‘Oh, I’m not particular as to size,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘only one
doesn’t like changing so often, you know.’
‘I DON’T know,’ said the Caterpillar.
Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life
before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.
‘Are you content now?’ said the Caterpillar.
‘Well, I should like to be a LITTLE larger, sir, if you wouldn’t mind,’
said Alice: ‘three inches is such a wretched height to be.’
‘It is a very good height indeed!’ said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing
itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).
‘But I’m not used to it!’ pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And
she thought of herself, ‘I wish the creatures wouldn’t be so easily
offended!’
‘You’ll get used to it in time,’ said the Caterpillar; and it put the
hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.
This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In
a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth
and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the
mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went,
‘One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you
grow shorter.’
‘One side of WHAT? The other side of WHAT?’ thought Alice to herself.
‘Of the mushroom,’ said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it
aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying
to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly
round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she
stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit
of the edge with each hand.
‘And now which is which?’ she said to herself, and nibbled a little of
the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent
blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!
She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt
that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she
set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed
so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her
mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the
lefthand bit.
*******
******
*******
‘Come, my head’s free at last!’ said Alice in a tone of delight, which
changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders
were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was
an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a
sea of green leaves that lay far below her.
‘What CAN all that green stuff be?’ said Alice. ‘And where HAVE my
shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can’t see you?’
She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow,
except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.
As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she
tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her
neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had
just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was going
to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops
of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made
her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and
was beating her violently with its wings.
‘Serpent!’ screamed the Pigeon.
‘I’m NOT a serpent!’ said Alice indignantly. ‘Let me alone!’
‘Serpent, I say again!’ repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone,
and added with a kind of sob, ‘I’ve tried every way, and nothing seems
to suit them!’
‘I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about,’ said Alice.
‘I’ve tried the roots of trees, and I’ve tried banks, and I’ve tried
hedges,’ the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; ‘but those
serpents! There’s no pleasing them!’
Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in
saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.
‘As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,’ said the Pigeon;
‘but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I
haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!’
‘I’m very sorry you’ve been annoyed,’ said Alice, who was beginning to
see its meaning.
‘And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,’ continued the
Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, ‘and just as I was thinking I
should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from
the sky! Ugh, Serpent!’
‘But I’m NOT a serpent, I tell you!’ said Alice. ‘I’m a--I’m a--’
‘Well! WHAT are you?’ said the Pigeon. ‘I can see you’re trying to
invent something!’
‘I--I’m a little girl,’ said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered
the number of changes she had gone through that day.
‘A likely story indeed!’ said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest
contempt. ‘I’ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never ONE
with such a neck as that! No, no! You’re a serpent; and there’s no use
denying it. I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you never tasted an
egg!’
‘I HAVE tasted eggs, certainly,’ said Alice, who was a very truthful
child; ‘but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you
know.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said the Pigeon; ‘but if they do, why then they’re
a kind of serpent, that’s all I can say.’
This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a
minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, ‘You’re
looking for eggs, I know THAT well enough; and what does it matter to me
whether you’re a little girl or a serpent?’
‘It matters a good deal to ME,’ said Alice hastily; ‘but I’m not looking
for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn’t want YOURS: I don’t
like them raw.’
‘Well, be off, then!’ said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled
down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as
she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and
every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she
remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and
she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the
other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had
succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.
It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it
felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes,
and began talking to herself, as usual. ‘Come, there’s half my plan done
now! How puzzling all these changes are! I’m never sure what I’m going
to be, from one minute to another! However, I’ve got back to my right
size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden--how IS that
to be done, I wonder?’ As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open
place, with a little house in it about four feet high. ‘Whoever lives
there,’ thought Alice, ‘it’ll never do to come upon them THIS size: why,
I should frighten them out of their wits!’ So she began nibbling at the
righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she
had brought herself down to nine inches high.
CHAPTER VI. Pig and Pepper
For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and wondering what
to do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came running out of the
wood--(she considered him to be a footman because he was in livery:
otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a
fish)--and rapped loudly at the door with his knuckles. It was opened
by another footman in livery, with a round face, and large eyes like a
frog; and both footmen, Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled all
over their heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all about,
and crept a little way out of the wood to listen.
The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great letter,
nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to the other,
saying, in a solemn tone, ‘For the Duchess. An invitation from the Queen
to play croquet.’ The Frog-Footman repeated, in the same solemn tone,
only changing the order of the words a little, ‘From the Queen. An
invitation for the Duchess to play croquet.’
Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together.
Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into the
wood for fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped out the
Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the ground near the
door, staring stupidly up into the sky.
Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.
‘There’s no sort of use in knocking,’ said the Footman, ‘and that for
two reasons. First, because I’m on the same side of the door as you
are; secondly, because they’re making such a noise inside, no one could
possibly hear you.’ And certainly there was a most extraordinary noise
going on within--a constant howling and sneezing, and every now and then
a great crash, as if a dish or kettle had been broken to pieces.
‘Please, then,’ said Alice, ‘how am I to get in?’
‘There might be some sense in your knocking,’ the Footman went on
without attending to her, ‘if we had the door between us. For instance,
if you were INSIDE, you might knock, and I could let you out, you know.’
He was looking up into the sky all the time he was speaking, and this
Alice thought decidedly uncivil. ‘But perhaps he can’t help it,’ she
said to herself; ‘his eyes are so VERY nearly at the top of his head.
But at any rate he might answer questions.--How am I to get in?’ she
repeated, aloud.
‘I shall sit here,’ the Footman remarked, ‘till tomorrow--’
At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate came
skimming out, straight at the Footman’s head: it just grazed his nose,
and broke to pieces against one of the trees behind him.
‘--or next day, maybe,’ the Footman continued in the same tone, exactly
as if nothing had happened.
‘How am I to get in?’ asked Alice again, in a louder tone.
‘ARE you to get in at all?’ said the Footman. ‘That’s the first
question, you know.’
It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so. ‘It’s really
dreadful,’ she muttered to herself, ‘the way all the creatures argue.
It’s enough to drive one crazy!’
The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for repeating his
remark, with variations. ‘I shall sit here,’ he said, ‘on and off, for
days and days.’
‘But what am I to do?’ said Alice.
‘Anything you like,’ said the Footman, and began whistling.
‘Oh, there’s no use in talking to him,’ said Alice desperately: ‘he’s
perfectly idiotic!’ And she opened the door and went in.
The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from
one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool in
the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring
a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.
‘There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!’ Alice said to herself,
as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess
sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was sneezing and howling
alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things in the kitchen
that did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat which was sitting on
the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.
‘Please would you tell me,’ said Alice, a little timidly, for she was
not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to speak first, ‘why
your cat grins like that?’
‘It’s a Cheshire cat,’ said the Duchess, ‘and that’s why. Pig!’
She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice quite
jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed to the baby,
and not to her, so she took courage, and went on again:--
‘I didn’t know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I didn’t know
that cats COULD grin.’
‘They all can,’ said the Duchess; ‘and most of ‘em do.’
‘I don’t know of any that do,’ Alice said very politely, feeling quite
pleased to have got into a conversation.
‘You don’t know much,’ said the Duchess; ‘and that’s a fact.’
Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought it would
be as well to introduce some other subject of conversation. While she
was trying to fix on one, the cook took the cauldron of soup off the
fire, and at once set to work throwing everything within her reach at
the Duchess and the baby--the fire-irons came first; then followed a
shower of saucepans, plates, and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of
them even when they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already,
that it was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.
‘Oh, PLEASE mind what you’re doing!’ cried Alice, jumping up and down in
an agony of terror. ‘Oh, there goes his PRECIOUS nose’; as an unusually
large saucepan flew close by it, and very nearly carried it off.
‘If everybody minded their own business,’ the Duchess said in a hoarse
growl, ‘the world would go round a deal faster than it does.’
‘Which would NOT be an advantage,’ said Alice, who felt very glad to get
an opportunity of showing off a little of her knowledge. ‘Just think of
what work it would make with the day and night! You see the earth takes
twenty-four hours to turn round on its axis--’
‘Talking of axes,’ said the Duchess, ‘chop off her head!’
Alice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant to take
the hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and seemed not to
be listening, so she went on again: ‘Twenty-four hours, I THINK; or is
it twelve? I--’
‘Oh, don’t bother ME,’ said the Duchess; ‘I never could abide figures!’
And with that she began nursing her child again, singing a sort of
lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a violent shake at the end of
every line:
‘Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes:
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.’
CHORUS.
(In which the cook and the baby joined):--
‘Wow! wow! wow!’
While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing
the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so,
that Alice could hardly hear the words:--
‘I speak severely to my boy,
I beat him when he sneezes;
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when he pleases!’
CHORUS.
‘Wow! wow! wow!’
‘Here! you may nurse it a bit, if you like!’ the Duchess said to Alice,
flinging the baby at her as she spoke. ‘I must go and get ready to play
croquet with the Queen,’ and she hurried out of the room. The cook threw
a frying-pan after her as she went out, but it just missed her.
Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer-shaped
little creature, and held out its arms and legs in all directions, ‘just
like a star-fish,’ thought Alice. The poor little thing was snorting
like a steam-engine when she caught it, and kept doubling itself up and
straightening itself out again, so that altogether, for the first minute
or two, it was as much as she could do to hold it.
As soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it, (which was to
twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep tight hold of its right
ear and left foot, so as to prevent its undoing itself,) she carried
it out into the open air. ‘IF I don’t take this child away with me,’
thought Alice, ‘they’re sure to kill it in a day or two: wouldn’t it be
murder to leave it behind?’ She said the last words out loud, and the
little thing grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time).
‘Don’t grunt,’ said Alice; ‘that’s not at all a proper way of expressing
yourself.’
The baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into its face to
see what was the matter with it. There could be no doubt that it had
a VERY turn-up nose, much more like a snout than a real nose; also its
eyes were getting extremely small for a baby: altogether Alice did not
like the look of the thing at all. ‘But perhaps it was only sobbing,’
she thought, and looked into its eyes again, to see if there were any
tears.
No, there were no tears. ‘If you’re going to turn into a pig, my dear,’
said Alice, seriously, ‘I’ll have nothing more to do with you. Mind
now!’ The poor little thing sobbed again (or grunted, it was impossible
to say which), and they went on for some while in silence.
Alice was just beginning to think to herself, ‘Now, what am I to do with
this creature when I get it home?’ when it grunted again, so violently,
that she looked down into its face in some alarm. This time there could
be NO mistake about it: it was neither more nor less than a pig, and she
felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry it further.
So she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to see
it trot away quietly into the wood. ‘If it had grown up,’ she said
to herself, ‘it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes
rather a handsome pig, I think.’ And she began thinking over other
children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying
to herself, ‘if one only knew the right way to change them--’ when she
was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a
tree a few yards off.
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she
thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great many teeth, so she
felt that it ought to be treated with respect.
‘Cheshire Puss,’ she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know
whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.
‘Come, it’s pleased so far,’ thought Alice, and she went on. ‘Would you
tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’
‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.
‘I don’t much care where--’ said Alice.
‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.
‘--so long as I get SOMEWHERE,’ Alice added as an explanation.
‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk long
enough.’
Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question.
‘What sort of people live about here?’
‘In THAT direction,’ the Cat said, waving its right paw round, ‘lives
a Hatter: and in THAT direction,’ waving the other paw, ‘lives a March
Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.’
‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad.
You’re mad.’
‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.
‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’
Alice didn’t think that proved it at all; however, she went on ‘And how
do you know that you’re mad?’
‘To begin with,’ said the Cat, ‘a dog’s not mad. You grant that?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Alice.
‘Well, then,’ the Cat went on, ‘you see, a dog growls when it’s angry,
and wags its tail when it’s pleased. Now I growl when I’m pleased, and
wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.’
‘I call it purring, not growling,’ said Alice.
‘Call it what you like,’ said the Cat. ‘Do you play croquet with the
Queen to-day?’
‘I should like it very much,’ said Alice, ‘but I haven’t been invited
yet.’
‘You’ll see me there,’ said the Cat, and vanished.
Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used to queer
things happening. While she was looking at the place where it had been,
it suddenly appeared again.
‘By-the-bye, what became of the baby?’ said the Cat. ‘I’d nearly
forgotten to ask.’
‘It turned into a pig,’ Alice quietly said, just as if it had come back
in a natural way.
‘I thought it would,’ said the Cat, and vanished again.
Alice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it did not
appear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the direction in
which the March Hare was said to live. ‘I’ve seen hatters before,’ she
said to herself; ‘the March Hare will be much the most interesting, and
perhaps as this is May it won’t be raving mad--at least not so mad as
it was in March.’ As she said this, she looked up, and there was the Cat
again, sitting on a branch of a tree.
‘Did you say pig, or fig?’ said the Cat.
‘I said pig,’ replied Alice; ‘and I wish you wouldn’t keep appearing and
vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.’
‘All right,’ said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly,
beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which
remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
‘Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,’ thought Alice; ‘but a grin
without a cat! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw in my life!’
She had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the house
of the March Hare: she thought it must be the right house, because the
chimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was thatched with fur. It
was so large a house, that she did not like to go nearer till she had
nibbled some more of the lefthand bit of mushroom, and raised herself to
about two feet high: even then she walked up towards it rather timidly,
saying to herself ‘Suppose it should be raving mad after all! I almost
wish I’d gone to see the Hatter instead!’
CHAPTER VII. A Mad Tea-Party
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the
March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting
between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a
cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. ‘Very
uncomfortable for the Dormouse,’ thought Alice; ‘only, as it’s asleep, I
suppose it doesn’t mind.’
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at
one corner of it: ‘No room! No room!’ they cried out when they saw Alice
coming. ‘There’s PLENTY of room!’ said Alice indignantly, and she sat
down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
‘Have some wine,’ the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea.
‘I don’t see any wine,’ she remarked.
‘There isn’t any,’ said the March Hare.
‘Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,’ said Alice angrily.
‘It wasn’t very civil of you to sit down without being invited,’ said
the March Hare.
‘I didn’t know it was YOUR table,’ said Alice; ‘it’s laid for a great
many more than three.’
‘Your hair wants cutting,’ said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice
for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
‘You should learn not to make personal remarks,’ Alice said with some
severity; ‘it’s very rude.’
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he SAID
was, ‘Why is a raven like a writing-desk?’
‘Come, we shall have some fun now!’ thought Alice. ‘I’m glad they’ve
begun asking riddles.--I believe I can guess that,’ she added aloud.
‘Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?’ said the
March Hare.
‘Exactly so,’ said Alice.
‘Then you should say what you mean,’ the March Hare went on.
‘I do,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘at least--at least I mean what I
say--that’s the same thing, you know.’
‘Not the same thing a bit!’ said the Hatter. ‘You might just as well say
that "I see what I eat" is the same thing as "I eat what I see"!’
‘You might just as well say,’ added the March Hare, ‘that "I like what I
get" is the same thing as "I get what I like"!’
‘You might just as well say,’ added the Dormouse, who seemed to be
talking in his sleep, ‘that "I breathe when I sleep" is the same thing
as "I sleep when I breathe"!’
‘It IS the same thing with you,’ said the Hatter, and here the
conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice
thought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks,
which wasn’t much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. ‘What day of the month
is it?’ he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his
pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then,
and holding it to his ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said ‘The fourth.’
‘Two days wrong!’ sighed the Hatter. ‘I told you butter wouldn’t suit
the works!’ he added looking angrily at the March Hare.
‘It was the BEST butter,’ the March Hare meekly replied.
‘Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,’ the Hatter grumbled:
‘you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.’
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped
it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of
nothing better to say than his first remark, ‘It was the BEST butter,
you know.’
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. ‘What a
funny watch!’ she remarked. ‘It tells the day of the month, and doesn’t
tell what o’clock it is!’
‘Why should it?’ muttered the Hatter. ‘Does YOUR watch tell you what
year it is?’
‘Of course not,’ Alice replied very readily: ‘but that’s because it
stays the same year for such a long time together.’
‘Which is just the case with MINE,’ said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to have no
sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. ‘I don’t quite
understand you,’ she said, as politely as she could.
‘The Dormouse is asleep again,’ said the Hatter, and he poured a little
hot tea upon its nose.
The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without opening its
eyes, ‘Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.’
‘Have you guessed the riddle yet?’ the Hatter said, turning to Alice
again.
‘No, I give it up,’ Alice replied: ‘what’s the answer?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said the Hatter.
‘Nor I,’ said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. ‘I think you might do something better with the
time,’ she said, ‘than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.’
‘If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, ‘you wouldn’t talk
about wasting IT. It’s HIM.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Alice.
‘Of course you don’t!’ the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously.
‘I dare say you never even spoke to Time!’
‘Perhaps not,’ Alice cautiously replied: ‘but I know I have to beat time
when I learn music.’
‘Ah! that accounts for it,’ said the Hatter. ‘He won’t stand beating.
Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything
you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o’clock in
the morning, just time to begin lessons: you’d only have to whisper a
hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one,
time for dinner!’
[‘I only wish it was,’ the March Hare said to itself in a whisper.)
‘That would be grand, certainly,’ said Alice thoughtfully: ‘but then--I
shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.’
‘Not at first, perhaps,’ said the Hatter: ‘but you could keep it to
half-past one as long as you liked.’
‘Is that the way YOU manage?’ Alice asked.
The Hatter shook his head mournfully. ‘Not I!’ he replied. ‘We
quarrelled last March--just before HE went mad, you know--’ (pointing
with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) ‘--it was at the great concert
given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing
"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!"
You know the song, perhaps?’
‘I’ve heard something like it,’ said Alice.
‘It goes on, you know,’ the Hatter continued, ‘in this way:--
"Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea-tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle--"’
Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep ‘Twinkle,
twinkle, twinkle, twinkle--’ and went on so long that they had to pinch
it to make it stop.
‘Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,’ said the Hatter, ‘when the
Queen jumped up and bawled out, "He’s murdering the time! Off with his
head!"’
‘How dreadfully savage!’ exclaimed Alice.
‘And ever since that,’ the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, ‘he won’t
do a thing I ask! It’s always six o’clock now.’
A bright idea came into Alice’s head. ‘Is that the reason so many
tea-things are put out here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said the Hatter with a sigh: ‘it’s always tea-time,
and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.’
‘Then you keep moving round, I suppose?’ said Alice.
‘Exactly so,’ said the Hatter: ‘as the things get used up.’
‘But what happens when you come to the beginning again?’ Alice ventured
to ask.
‘Suppose we change the subject,’ the March Hare interrupted, yawning.
‘I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know one,’ said Alice, rather alarmed at the
proposal.
‘Then the Dormouse shall!’ they both cried. ‘Wake up, Dormouse!’ And
they pinched it on both sides at once.
The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. ‘I wasn’t asleep,’ he said in a
hoarse, feeble voice: ‘I heard every word you fellows were saying.’
‘Tell us a story!’ said the March Hare.
‘Yes, please do!’ pleaded Alice.
‘And be quick about it,’ added the Hatter, ‘or you’ll be asleep again
before it’s done.’
‘Once upon a time there were three little sisters,’ the Dormouse began
in a great hurry; ‘and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; and
they lived at the bottom of a well--’
‘What did they live on?’ said Alice, who always took a great interest in
questions of eating and drinking.
‘They lived on treacle,’ said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute or
two.
‘They couldn’t have done that, you know,’ Alice gently remarked; ‘they’d
have been ill.’
‘So they were,’ said the Dormouse; ‘VERY ill.’
Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways of
living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on: ‘But
why did they live at the bottom of a well?’
‘Take some more tea,’ the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
‘I’ve had nothing yet,’ Alice replied in an offended tone, ‘so I can’t
take more.’
‘You mean you can’t take LESS,’ said the Hatter: ‘it’s very easy to take
MORE than nothing.’
‘Nobody asked YOUR opinion,’ said Alice.
‘Who’s making personal remarks now?’ the Hatter asked triumphantly.
Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself
to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and
repeated her question. ‘Why did they live at the bottom of a well?’
The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and then
said, ‘It was a treacle-well.’
‘There’s no such thing!’ Alice was beginning very angrily, but the
Hatter and the March Hare went ‘Sh! sh!’ and the Dormouse sulkily
remarked, ‘If you can’t be civil, you’d better finish the story for
yourself.’
‘No, please go on!’ Alice said very humbly; ‘I won’t interrupt again. I
dare say there may be ONE.’
‘One, indeed!’ said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he consented to
go on. ‘And so these three little sisters--they were learning to draw,
you know--’
‘What did they draw?’ said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.
‘Treacle,’ said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time.
‘I want a clean cup,’ interrupted the Hatter: ‘let’s all move one place
on.’
He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Hare
moved into the Dormouse’s place, and Alice rather unwillingly took
the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got any
advantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off than
before, as the March Hare had just upset the milk-jug into his plate.
Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began very
cautiously: ‘But I don’t understand. Where did they draw the treacle
from?’
‘You can draw water out of a water-well,’ said the Hatter; ‘so I should
think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh, stupid?’
‘But they were IN the well,’ Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosing to
notice this last remark.
‘Of course they were’, said the Dormouse; ‘--well in.’
This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for
some time without interrupting it.
‘They were learning to draw,’ the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbing
its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; ‘and they drew all manner of
things--everything that begins with an M--’
‘Why with an M?’ said Alice.
‘Why not?’ said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into
a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with
a little shriek, and went on: ‘--that begins with an M, such as
mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness--you know you say
things are "much of a muchness"--did you ever see such a thing as a
drawing of a muchness?’
‘Really, now you ask me,’ said Alice, very much confused, ‘I don’t
think--’
‘Then you shouldn’t talk,’ said the Hatter.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up in
great disgust, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and
neither of the others took the least notice of her going, though she
looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her:
the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into
the teapot.
‘At any rate I’ll never go THERE again!’ said Alice as she picked her
way through the wood. ‘It’s the stupidest tea-party I ever was at in all
my life!’
Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a door
leading right into it. ‘That’s very curious!’ she thought. ‘But
everything’s curious today. I think I may as well go in at once.’ And in
she went.
Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little
glass table. ‘Now, I’ll manage better this time,’ she said to herself,
and began by taking the little golden key, and unlocking the door that
led into the garden. Then she went to work nibbling at the mushroom (she
had kept a piece of it in her pocket) till she was about a foot high:
then she walked down the little passage: and THEN--she found herself at
last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool
fountains.
CHAPTER VIII. The Queen’s Croquet-Ground
A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses
growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily
painting them red. Alice thought this a very curious thing, and she went
nearer to watch them, and just as she came up to them she heard one of
them say, ‘Look out now, Five! Don’t go splashing paint over me like
that!’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ said Five, in a sulky tone; ‘Seven jogged my
elbow.’
On which Seven looked up and said, ‘That’s right, Five! Always lay the
blame on others!’
‘YOU’D better not talk!’ said Five. ‘I heard the Queen say only
yesterday you deserved to be beheaded!’
‘What for?’ said the one who had spoken first.
‘That’s none of YOUR business, Two!’ said Seven.
‘Yes, it IS his business!’ said Five, ‘and I’ll tell him--it was for
bringing the cook tulip-roots instead of onions.’
Seven flung down his brush, and had just begun ‘Well, of all the unjust
things--’ when his eye chanced to fall upon Alice, as she stood watching
them, and he checked himself suddenly: the others looked round also, and
all of them bowed low.
‘Would you tell me,’ said Alice, a little timidly, ‘why you are painting
those roses?’
Five and Seven said nothing, but looked at Two. Two began in a low
voice, ‘Why the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a
RED rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the Queen
was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off, you know.
So you see, Miss, we’re doing our best, afore she comes, to--’ At this
moment Five, who had been anxiously looking across the garden, called
out ‘The Queen! The Queen!’ and the three gardeners instantly threw
themselves flat upon their faces. There was a sound of many footsteps,
and Alice looked round, eager to see the Queen.
First came ten soldiers carrying clubs; these were all shaped like
the three gardeners, oblong and flat, with their hands and feet at the
corners: next the ten courtiers; these were ornamented all over with
diamonds, and walked two and two, as the soldiers did. After these came
the royal children; there were ten of them, and the little dears came
jumping merrily along hand in hand, in couples: they were all ornamented
with hearts. Next came the guests, mostly Kings and Queens, and among
them Alice recognised the White Rabbit: it was talking in a hurried
nervous manner, smiling at everything that was said, and went by without
noticing her. Then followed the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King’s
crown on a crimson velvet cushion; and, last of all this grand
procession, came THE KING AND QUEEN OF HEARTS.
Alice was rather doubtful whether she ought not to lie down on her face
like the three gardeners, but she could not remember ever having heard
of such a rule at processions; ‘and besides, what would be the use of
a procession,’ thought she, ‘if people had all to lie down upon their
faces, so that they couldn’t see it?’ So she stood still where she was,
and waited.
When the procession came opposite to Alice, they all stopped and looked
at her, and the Queen said severely ‘Who is this?’ She said it to the
Knave of Hearts, who only bowed and smiled in reply.
‘Idiot!’ said the Queen, tossing her head impatiently; and, turning to
Alice, she went on, ‘What’s your name, child?’
‘My name is Alice, so please your Majesty,’ said Alice very politely;
but she added, to herself, ‘Why, they’re only a pack of cards, after
all. I needn’t be afraid of them!’
‘And who are THESE?’ said the Queen, pointing to the three gardeners who
were lying round the rosetree; for, you see, as they were lying on their
faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the rest of the
pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or
courtiers, or three of her own children.
‘How should I know?’ said Alice, surprised at her own courage. ‘It’s no
business of MINE.’
The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a
moment like a wild beast, screamed ‘Off with her head! Off--’
‘Nonsense!’ said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was
silent.
The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said ‘Consider, my
dear: she is only a child!’
The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave ‘Turn them
over!’
The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot.
‘Get up!’ said the Queen, in a shrill, loud voice, and the three
gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the King, the Queen,
the royal children, and everybody else.
‘Leave off that!’ screamed the Queen. ‘You make me giddy.’ And then,
turning to the rose-tree, she went on, ‘What HAVE you been doing here?’
‘May it please your Majesty,’ said Two, in a very humble tone, going
down on one knee as he spoke, ‘we were trying--’
‘I see!’ said the Queen, who had meanwhile been examining the roses.
‘Off with their heads!’ and the procession moved on, three of the
soldiers remaining behind to execute the unfortunate gardeners, who ran
to Alice for protection.
‘You shan’t be beheaded!’ said Alice, and she put them into a large
flower-pot that stood near. The three soldiers wandered about for a
minute or two, looking for them, and then quietly marched off after the
others.
‘Are their heads off?’ shouted the Queen.
‘Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty!’ the soldiers shouted
in reply.
‘That’s right!’ shouted the Queen. ‘Can you play croquet?’
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’
444
445
‘
,
’
.
446
447
‘
’
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’
.
448
449
‘
’
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’
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450
451
‘
-
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’
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452
453
‘
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’
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’
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‘
454
.
’
455
456
,
.
457
‘
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458
459
‘
,
’
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460
:
,
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‘
461
.
:
’
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462
463
‘
’
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’
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464
465
‘
,
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:
‘
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466
’
.
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467
468
‘
’
?
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469
470
‘
,
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‘
’
.
’
471
472
’
;
,
‘
473
’
?
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474
475
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.
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476
477
‘
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478
479
‘
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480
’
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481
’
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482
483
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484
485
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486
-
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487
488
‘
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‘
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489
.
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490
491
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492
493
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494
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495
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496
497
‘
-
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‘
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498
.
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499
500
‘
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501
.
502
503
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504
505
,
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506
,
507
.
‘
’
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508
;
‘
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509
’
-
-
510
.
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,
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512
513
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514
515
‘
,
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;
‘
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516
:
.
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517
518
‘
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;
,
519
,
,
520
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521
522
‘
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,
’
;
‘
523
!
’
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524
525
526
:
,
527
.
528
,
529
,
530
:
,
531
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532
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533
534
535
536
537
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-
538
539
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540
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541
,
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542
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543
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;
‘
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544
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545
546
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547
:
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.
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-
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550
551
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552
553
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555
556
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557
558
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559
560
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561
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562
563
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;
‘
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564
.
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565
566
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567
,
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568
569
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570
;
‘
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571
572
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573
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574
575
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576
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577
578
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579
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580
581
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582
583
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584
585
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588
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593
594
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602
603
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607
608
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610
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612
613
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614
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617
618
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626
627
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629
630
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632
633
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634
635
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647
648
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650
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652
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667
668
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670
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676
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679
680
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683
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685
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‘
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690
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693
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695
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696
697
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699
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702
703
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706
707
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711
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713
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715
716
’
.
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-
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719
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:
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721
722
‘
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723
724
‘
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:
‘
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725
726
‘
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’
727
.
728
729
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741
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743
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744
745
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‘
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746
’
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747
748
‘
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749
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755
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757
758
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.
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760
761
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;
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763
764
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:
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766
767
‘
,
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.
768
769
‘
’
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’
,
‘
’
770
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771
772
‘
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:
‘
’
773
.
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774
775
‘
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.
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777
‘
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779
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-
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781
.
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782
783
,
784
,
‘
-
.
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785
786
‘
’
!
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,
787
‘
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788
,
‘
’
,
’
789
.
’
790
791
‘
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’
;
‘
’
.
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.
’
793
794
‘
,
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.
,
795
.
‘
-
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-
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797
798
‘
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.
799
800
‘
,
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.
801
802
‘
,
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:
‘
’
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.
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804
805
,
:
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’
,
807
.
808
:
809
,
-
.
810
811
,
812
:
‘
’
.
813
?
’
814
815
‘
-
,
’
;
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-
-
-
,
?
’
817
818
‘
,
’
,
819
.
820
821
‘
’
,
;
‘
-
-
.
’
822
823
,
824
.
825
826
‘
,
’
,
827
,
;
‘
828
-
-
-
-
’
829
830
‘
?
’
.
831
832
‘
?
’
.
833
834
.
835
836
,
837
;
,
,
838
,
:
‘
-
-
,
839
-
,
,
,
-
-
840
"
"
-
-
841
?
’
842
843
‘
,
,
’
,
,
‘
’
844
-
-
’
845
846
‘
’
,
’
.
847
848
:
849
,
;
,
850
,
851
,
:
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,
853
.
854
855
‘
’
!
’
856
.
‘
’
-
857
!
’
858
859
,
860
.
‘
’
!
’
.
‘
861
’
.
.
’
862
.
863
864
,
865
.
‘
,
’
,
’
,
866
,
867
.
(
868
)
:
869
:
-
-
870
,
-
871
.
872
873
874
875
876
.
’
-
877
878
-
:
879
,
,
880
.
,
881
,
882
,
‘
,
!
’
883
!
’
884
885
‘
’
,
’
,
;
‘
886
.
’
887
888
,
‘
’
,
!
889
!
’
890
891
‘
’
!
’
.
‘
892
!
’
893
894
‘
?
’
.
895
896
‘
’
,
!
’
.
897
898
‘
,
!
’
,
‘
’
-
-
899
-
.
’
900
901
,
‘
,
902
-
-
’
,
903
,
:
,
904
.
905
906
‘
,
’
,
,
‘
907
?
’
908
909
,
.
910
,
‘
,
,
,
911
-
,
;
912
,
,
.
913
,
,
’
,
,
-
-
’
914
,
,
915
‘
!
!
’
916
.
,
917
,
.
918
919
;
920
,
,
921
:
;
922
,
,
.
923
;
,
924
,
:
925
.
,
,
926
:
927
,
,
928
.
,
’
929
;
,
930
,
.
931
932
933
,
934
;
‘
,
935
,
’
,
‘
936
,
’
?
’
,
937
.
938
939
,
940
,
‘
?
’
941
,
.
942
943
‘
!
’
,
;
,
944
,
,
‘
’
,
?
’
945
946
‘
,
,
’
;
947
,
,
‘
,
’
,
948
.
’
!
’
949
950
‘
?
’
,
951
;
,
,
952
,
953
,
,
,
954
,
.
955
956
‘
?
’
,
.
‘
’
957
.
’
958
959
,
,
960
,
‘
!
-
-
’
961
962
‘
!
’
,
,
963
.
964
965
,
‘
,
966
:
!
’
967
968
,
‘
969
!
’
970
971
,
,
.
972
973
‘
!
’
,
,
,
974
,
,
,
975
,
.
976
977
‘
!
’
.
‘
.
’
,
978
-
,
,
‘
?
’
979
980
‘
,
’
,
,
981
,
‘
-
-
’
982
983
‘
!
’
,
.
984
‘
!
’
,
985
,
986
.
987
988
‘
’
!
’
,
989
-
.
990
,
,
991
.
992
993
‘
?
’
.
994
995
‘
,
!
’
996
.
997
998
‘
’
!
’
.
‘
?
’
999
1000