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 know,” he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at them with one eye; “I seem to see some meaning in them after all. ‘said I could not swim—’ you can’t swim can you?” he added, turning to the Knave.

The Knave shook his head sadly. “Do I look like it?” he said. (Which he certainly did not, being made entirely of cardboard.)

“All right, so far,” said the King, as he went on muttering over the verses to himself: “‘We know it to be true—’ that’s the jury, of course—‘If she should push the matter on’—that must be the Queen—‘What would become of you?’—What, indeed!—‘I gave her one, they gave him two—’ why, that must be what he did with the tarts, you know”

“Why, there they are!” said the King triumphantly, pointing to the tarts on the table. “Nothing can be clearer than that. Then again—‘before she had this fit—’ you never had fits, my dear, I think?” he said to the Queen.

“Never!” said the Queen furiously, throw-