Near the end of the hall was a mirror like a piece of yellow silk stretched upon a frame. The Cheshire Cat grinned at me from within.
“It’s not worth it. The hell with them all,” he said. “Come to the cabaret, old chum. We’ll tip a few brews and watch the man paint.”
“No!” I cried. “No!”
And then there was only a grin. This time I faded, too. Merciful, black oblivion and the sound of the wind, somewhere, passing.