'Let's pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze, so that we can get through. Why, it's turning into a sort of mist now, I declare! It'll be easy enough to get through--' She was up on the chimney-piece while she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there. And certainly the glass WAS beginning to melt away, just like a bright silvery mist.
Not really, it's just a fountain in the evening light outside Skysong. I'll look for Alice and Lewis Carroll, another time, another place.
No comments:
Post a Comment