The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice. 'Who are you? ' said the Caterpillar. This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation.
Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then. ' 'What do you mean by that? ' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!
' 'I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,' said Alice, 'because I’m not myself, you see. ' 'I don’t see,' said the Caterpillar.
'I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing. ' 'It isn’t,' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,' said Alice; 'but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?
' 'Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar. 'Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; 'all I know is, it would feel very queer to me. ' 'You! ' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. 'Who are you? ' Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation.
Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, 'I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first. ' 'Why? ' said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a