Free Alice in Zombieland by Lewis & Cook Carroll

dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter’s remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. ‘I don’t quite understand you,’ she said, as politely as she could.
          ‘The Dormouse is asleep again,’ said the Hatter, and he poured a little cold tea upon its nose.
          The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, rattling its tiny bones, and said, without opening its eyes, ‘Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.’
          ‘Have you guessed the riddle yet?’ the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
          ‘No, I give it up,’ Alice replied: ‘what’s the answer?’
          ‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said the Hatter.
          ‘Nor I,’ said the Dead Hare.
          Alice sighed wearily. ‘I think you might do something better with the time,’ she said, ‘than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.’
          ‘If you knew Time as well as I do,’ said the Hatter, ‘you wouldn’t talk about wasting it . It’s him .’
          ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Alice.
          ‘Of course you don’t!’ the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. ‘I dare say you never even spoke to Time!’
          ‘Perhaps not,’ Alice cautiously replied: ‘but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.’
          ‘Ah! that accounts for it,’ said the Hatter, leering at her again, his blue tongue licking at his dry, bloody lips. ‘He won’t stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he’d do almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose it were nine o’clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you’d only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!’
          (‘I only wish it was,’ the Dead Hare said to itself in a whisper.)
          ‘That would be grand, certainly,’ said Alice thoughtfully: ‘but then—I shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.’
          ‘Not at first, perhaps,’ said the Hatter: ‘but you could keep it to half-past one as long as you liked.’
          ‘Is that the way you manage?’ Alice asked.
          The Hatter shook his head mournfully. ‘Not I!’ he replied. ‘We quarreled last March—just before he went mad, you know—’ (pointing with his tea spoon at the Dead Hare,) ‘—it was at the great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing
    -
      “Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
      How I wonder what you’re at!”
    -
          You know the song, perhaps?’
          ‘I’ve heard something like it,’ said Alice.
          ‘It goes on, you know,’ the Hatter continued, ‘in this way:
    -
      “Up above the world you fly,
      Like a tea-tray in the sky.
      Twinkle, twinkle—”’
    -
          Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep ‘Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle—’ and went on so long that they had to pinch it to make it stop. In doing so, a bit of the little thing fell to the table-his foot, and Alice looked at it hungrily, her hand moving slowly across the dirty table toward it. The Dormouse saw it and snatched it back again, tucking it close to its bony chest, sniffing indignantly at Alice.
          ‘Well, I’d hardly finished the first verse,’ said the Hatter, ‘when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, “He’s murdering the time! Off with his head!”’
          ‘How dreadfully savage!’ exclaimed Alice.
          ‘And ever since that,’ the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, ‘he won’t do a thing I ask! It’s always six o’clock now.’
          A bright idea came into Alice’s head. ‘Is that the reason so many tea-things are put out here?’ she asked.
          ‘Yes, that’s it,’ said the Hatter with a sigh: ‘it’s always tea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things between