fashion that hares have, its forepaws hanging absurdly in front of it,
with one ear, on which there was a grey blotch, cocked and one dragging,
and sniffed with its funny little nostrils. Then it began to talk to me.
I do not mean that it really talked, but the thoughts which were in its
mind were flashed on to my mind so that I understood perfectly, yes, and
could answer them in the same fashion. It said, or thought, thus:--

"You are real. You are a man who yet lives beneath the sun, though how
you came here I do not know. I hate men, all hares do, for men are cruel
to them. Still it is a comfort in this strange place to see something
one has seen before and to be able to talk even to a man, which I could
never do until the change came, the dreadful change--I mean because of
the way of it," and it seemed to shiver. "May I ask you some questions?"

"Certainly," I said or rather thought back.

"You are sure that they won't make you angry so that you hurt me?"

"I can't hurt you, even if I wished to do so. You are not a hare any
longer, if you ever were one, but only the shadow of a hare."

"Ah! I thought as much, and that's a good thing anyhow. Tell me, Man,
have you ever been torn to pieces by dogs?"

"Good gracious! no."

"Or coursed, or hunted, or caught in a trap, or shot all over your back,
or twisted up in nets and choked in snares? Or have you swum out to sea
to die more easily, or seen your mate and mother and father killed?"