At once, the bustle of a London street bloomed in Alice’s mind: a tangled queue of carriages, the impatient blare of motor-horns, and great crimson double-deckers swarming with people.
“Now listen—you really must attend!” the Mouse insisted, his voice a taut violin string of annoyance.
Snapping back into focus, Alice rested her chin upon her hands and raised her eyebrows, as though he had just said something perfectly ridiculous.
"The Queen, you see, is absurdist to the core,” the Mouse went on. “When she cries ‘Off with your head!’, it hardly means a thing—she only likes the funny noises she makes. Otherwise, my dear, you’d have to worry there’d be no cards left to play with at all.”
Alice noticed the Dodo, the Eaglet, and the Duck all leaning in, nodding as though every word were plain as daylight.
“English, please!” said Alice. She frowned, an expression which rather resembled a search bar awaiting its query—puzzled, empty, and patient for sense to be entered.
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