"The game is not so bad now," Al-ice said, think-ing she ought to fill in the time with talk of some kind.
"'Tis so," said the Duch-ess, "and the mor-al of that is—'Oh, 'tis love, 'tis love, that makes the world go round!'"
"Some one said, it's done by each one mind-ing his own work," said Al-ice.
"Ah! well, it means much the same thing," said the Duch-ess, then add-ed, "and the mor-al of that is—'Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves.'"
"How she likes to find mor-als in things," said Al-ice.
"Why don't you talk more and not think so long?" asked the Duch-ess.
"I've a right to think," said Al-ice in a sharp tone, for she was tired and vexed.
"Just as much right," said the Duch-ess, "as pigs have to fly; and the mor—"
But here the voice of the Duch-ess died out in the midst of her pet word, "mor-al," and Al-ice felt the arm that was linked in hers shake as if with fright. Al-ice looked up and there stood the Queen in front of them with her arms fold-ed, and a dark frown up-on her face.
