The Knave shook his head sadly. “Do I look like it?” he said. (Which he certainly did _not_, being made entirely of cardboard.)
“All right, so far,” said the King, and he went on muttering over the verses to himself: “‘_We know it to be true_—’ that’s the jury, of course—‘_I gave her one, they gave him two_—’ why, that must be what he did with the tarts, you know—”
“But, it goes on ‘_they all returned from him to you_,’” said Alice.
“Why, there they are!” said the King triumphantly, pointing to the tarts on the table. “Nothing can be clearer than _that_. Then again—‘_before she had this fit_—’ you never had fits, my dear, I think?” he said to the Queen.
“Never!” said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at the Lizard as she spoke. (The unfortunate little Bill had left off writing on his slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark; but he now hastily began again, using the ink, that was trickling down his face, as long as it lasted.)
“Then the words don’t _fit_ you,” said the King, looking round the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.
“It’s a pun!” the King added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed, “Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.
“No, no!” said the Queen. “Sentence first—verdict afterwards.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Alice loudly. “The idea of having the sentence first!”