The candles all grew up to the ceiling,
looking something like a bed of rushes with fireworks at the top. As
to the bottles, they each took a pair of plates, which they hastily
fitted on as wings, and so, with forks for legs, went fluttering
about in all directions: `and very like birds they look,' Alice
thought to herself, as well as she could in the dreadful confusion
that was beginning.
At this moment she heard a hoarse laugh at her side, and turn to
see what was the matter with the White Queen; but, instead of the
Queen, there was the leg of mutton sitting in the chair. `Here I am!'
cried a voice from the soup tureen, and Alice turned again, just in
time to see the Queen's broad good-natured face grinning at the for a
moment over the edge of the tureen, before she disappeared into the
soup.
There was not a moment to be lost. Already several of the guests
were lying down in the dishes, and the soup ladle was walking up the
table towards Alice's chair, and beckoning to her impatiently to get
out of its way.
`I can't stand this any longer!' she cried as she jumped up and
seized the table-cloth with both hands: one good pull, and plates,
dishes, guests, and candles came crashing down together in a heap on
the floor.
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