always happens.

‘And then there’s the Butterfly,’ Alice went on, after she had taken
a good look at the insect with its head on fire, and had thought to
herself, ‘I wonder if that’s the reason insects are so fond of flying
into candles–because they want to turn into Snap-dragon-flies!’

‘Crawling at your feet,’ said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in
some alarm), ‘you may observe a Bread-and-Butterfly. Its wings are thin
slices of Bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump
of sugar.’

‘And what does IT live on?’

‘Weak tea with cream in it.’

A new difficulty came into Alice’s head. ‘Supposing it couldn’t find
any?’ she suggested.

‘Then it would die, of course.’

‘But that must happen very often,’ Alice remarked thoughtfully.

‘It always happens,’ said the Gnat.

After this, Alice was silent for a minute or two, pondering. The Gnat
amused itself meanwhile by humming round and round her head: at last
it settled again and remarked, ‘I suppose you don’t want to lose your


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