down, and his voice getting lower and lower, "I don't believe that pudding ever was cooked! In fact, I don't believe that pudding ever will be cooked! And yet it was a very clever pudding to invent."
"What did you mean it to be made of?" Alice asked, hoping to cheer him up, for the poor Knight seemed quite low-spirited about it.
"It began with blotting-paper," the Knight answered, with a groan.
"That wouldn't be very nice, I'm afraid—"
"Not very nice alone," he interrupted, quite eagerly; "but you've no idea what a difference it makes, mixing it with other things—such as gunpowder and sealing-wax. And here I must leave you." They had just come to the end of the wood.
Alice could only look puzzled; she was thinking of the pudding.
"You are sad," the Knight said, in
