Don’t you wish sometimes you could go into looking-glass house? See! (Alice stands on
an armchair and looks into the mirror) There’s the room you can see through the glass; it’s just
the same as our living-room here, only the things go the other way. I can see all of it—all but the
bit just behind the fireplace. Oh! I do wish I could see that bit! I want so much to know if they’ve
a fire there. You never can tell, you know, unless our fire smokes. Then smoke comes up in that
room too—but that may be just to make it look as if they had a fire—just to pretend they had.
The books are something like our books, only the words go the wrong way. Won’t there ever be
any way of our getting through, U