Ken would understand, unless you’ve got into the way of reading it once a year or so, too:

Ken, dear, I almost wish I hadn’t gone down that rabbit hole, and yet — and yet — it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life.

Two weeks later, when she had begun to get used to her new work, her new life, the strange hours, people, jargon, she wrote him another cryptic note:

Alice — ”Well, in our country you’d generally get to somewhere else — if you ran very fast for a long time, as I’ve been doing.”

Red Queen — ”Here it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place.”

In those two weeks things