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"She went on growing and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there was not even
room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her
head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney,
and said to herself, 'Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What will become of me?'
* * *
'It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered
about by mice and rabbits. 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! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing
never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And when
I grow up, I'll write one--but I'm grown up now,' she added in a sorrowful tone; 'at least there's no room to grow up any
more here.'"--from "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," by Lewis Carroll.