`Now then! Show your ticket, child!' the Guard went on, looking
angrily at Alice. And a great many voices all said together (`like
the chorus of a song,' thought Alice), `Don't keep him waiting,
child! Why, his time is worth a thousand pounds a minute!'
`I'm afraid I haven't got one,' Alice said in a frightened tone:
`there wasn't a ticket-office where I came from." And again the
chorus of voices went on. `There wasn't room for one where she came
from. The land there is worth a thousand pounds an inch!'
`Don't make excuses,' said the Guard: `you should have bought one
from the engine-driver.' And once more the chorus of voices went on
with `The man that drives the engine. Why, the smoke alone is worth
a thousand pounds a puff!'
Alice thought to herself, `Then there's no use in speaking." The
voices didn't join in this time, as she hadn't spoken, but to her
great surprise, they all THOUGHT in chorus (I hope you understand
what THINKING IN CHORUS means -- for I must confess that _I_ don't),
`Better say nothing at all. Language is worth a thousand pounds a
word!'
`I shall dream about a thousand pounds tonight, I know I shall!'
thought Alice.
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