"It's so long since I've stopped to consider what people think of
me. One hasn't time, you know."
"Then one is unhuman. _I_ have time."
"Of course. But you haven't anything else to do."
As this was quite true, she naturally felt annoyed.
"Knowing as you do all the secrets of my inner life," she observed
sarcastically, "of course you are in a position to judge."
Her own words recalled Carroll's charge, and though, with the
subject of them before her, it seemed ridiculously impossible, yet
the spirit of mischief, ever hovering about her like an attendant
sprite, descended and took possession of her speech. She assumed a
severely judicial expression.
"Mr. Beetle Man, will you lay your hand upon your microscope, or
whatever else scientists make oath upon, and answer fully and
truly the question about to be put to you?"
"As I hope for a blessed release from this abode of lunacy, I
will."
"Mr. Beetle Man, have you got an awful secret in your life?"
So sharply did he start that the heavy goggles slipped a fraction
of an inch along his nose, the first time she had ever seen them
in any degree misplaced.
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