letter, written by the prisoner to--to somebody.'
'It must have been that,' said the King, 'unless it was written to
nobody, which isn't usual, you know.'
'Who is it directed to?' said one of the jurymen.
'It isn't directed at all,' said the White Rabbit; 'in fact, there's
nothing written on the OUTSIDE.' He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and
added 'It isn't a letter, after all: it's a set of verses.'
'Are they in the prisoner's handwriting?' asked another of the jurymen.
'No, they're not,' said the White Rabbit, 'and that's the queerest thing
about it.' (The jury all looked puzzled.)
'He must have imitated somebody else's hand,' said the King. (The jury
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