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当我由于疼痛不能走路，也就是跛脚的时候，年长于我的伯父便常常背着我走上数英里。
再后来，他也瘸了腿，而我恐怕在他烦躁、痛苦的时候，不能总是给他足够的照顾，也不能记起在我腿瘸时，他是怎样悉心呵护我的。
而当他死的时候，尽管只过了一个小时，我却觉得过了好久，这就是生与死的距离。
起初，我还能让自己平静地接受他的离去，但是后来，这种痛苦时时折磨着我。
尽管我没有像其他人那样伤心落泪，幻想自己可以代替他去死，但是我整日整夜地思念他，直到那时我才知道我多么爱他。
我想念他的善良，想念他的固执，希望他能活过来，再跟他吵吵架（因为我们有时会吵），而不想失去他。
失去他，我的不安就像他被大夫手术时一样令人痛苦。
——这时，孩子们哭了。
他们问他们身上的丧服是否是为约翰伯伯穿的。
他们抬着头，请求我不要再讲述有关伯伯的事情，而是谈谈他们已故的漂亮妈妈。
于是，我给孩子们讲道，在追求那个精灵般的女子七年的时间里，我时而充满希望，时而又失望不已，然而始终不渝。
我尽量以孩子们能理解的程度，向他们解释少女身上的羞怯、敏感与回绝——当我突然转向艾丽丝时，第一个艾丽丝的灵魂在小艾丽丝的眼里活生生地出现了，以至于我有些怀疑是谁站在我的面前。
而当我定睛看去时，两个孩子在我的视野中渐渐地变得模糊，越来越远，直到消失，只在最远的地方剩下哀伤的面孔。
尽管她们什么也没说，但我仿佛听到了他们的话：“我们不是艾丽丝的孩子，不是你的孩子，我们也不是孩子。
艾丽丝的孩子叫巴尔曼爸爸。
我们什么也不是，连梦幻都不是。
我们只是可能存在的人物，在真实存在之前，我们必须要遗忘河边苦苦等上数百万年，然后才有一个名字。”
——我突然惊醒，发现自己静静地坐在我的轮椅上。
原来，我在那里睡着了，忠诚的布里吉特还守在我身边，但是约翰（或者詹姆斯）永远失去了踪影。
lovetolistentostoriesabouttheirelders，whentheywere；tostretchtheirimaginatioionofatraditireat-u-aunt，whomtheywasinthisspiritthatmylittleomethetohearabrandmotherField，wholivedihouseinNorfolk（ahuimesbiggerthanthatinwhidpapalived）whichhadbeeleastitwasgenerallybelievedinthatpartofthetry—itswhichtheyhadlatelybeiliarwithfromtheballadoftheintheWood.itisthatthewholestoryoftheandtheirclewastobeseenfairlycarvedoutinwoodupontheey-pieceofthegreathall，thewholestorydowntotheRobiillafoolishripulleditdowupamarbleoionihnostoryuponit.HereAliceputoutoneofherdearmother'slooks，tooteobecalledupbraiding.
&ontosay，hiousandhowgrandmotherFieldwas，howbelovedaedbyeverybody，thoughshewashemistressofthisgreehadonlythechargeofit（aisshemightbesaidtobethemistressofittoo）ittedtoherbytheowner，whinanewerandmorefashionablemansionwhichhehadpurewhereintheadjoiningty；butstillshelivedinitinamannerasifithadbeenherotupthedignityofthegreathouseinasortwhileshelived，whichafterwardscametodedulleddown，andallitsoldorrippedaotheowner'sotherhouse，wheretheyweresetup，andlookedasawkwardasifsomeoocarryawaytheoldtombstheyhadseeheAbbey，andstickthemupinLadyC.'stawdrygiltdrawing-rooHereJohnsmiled，asmuchastosay，"thatwouldbefoolishi;Aoldhow，wheodie，herfuneralwasattendedbyacourseofallthepoor，ahegentrytoo，oftheneighborhoodformanymilesround，toshowtheirrespeory，becauseshehadbeensuchagiouswoman'sgoodishekhePsalterybyheart，aye，aoftheTestamentbesides.HerelittleAlicespreadherhands.
&oldright，gracefulpersrandmotherFieldondhowihshewasesteemedthebestdancer—hereAlice'slittlerightfootplayedaninvoluilluponmylookidesisted-thebestdancer，Iwassayiy，tillacrueldisease，calledacer，dbowedherdownwithpain；butiteverbendhergoodspirits，ormakethemstoop，buttheywerestillupright，becauseshewassogious.ThenItoldhowshewasusedtosleepbyherselfinalohegreatlonehouse；andhowshebelievedthatanapparitionoftwoinfantswastobeseenatmidnightglidingupanddowairearwheresheslept，butshesaid"Thoseiswoulddohernoharm；"andhhteobe，thoughinthosedaysIhadmymaidtosleepwithme，becauseIwasneverhalfsiousasshe—aIheinfants.HereJohnexpandedallhiseyebrowsaoleous.
&oldhowgoodshewastrand-，havingustothegreathouseintheholidays，whereIinparticularusedtospendmanyhoursbymyself，ingazinguposoftheTwelveCaesars，thathadbeenEmperorsofRome，tilltheoldmarbleheadswouldseemtoliveagain，orItobeturomarblewiththem，howInevercouldbefiredwithroamingaboutthathugemansion，withitsvastemptymoms，withtheirworn-outhangings，flutteriryandcarvedoakehegildingalmostrubbedout—sometimesinthespaciousold-fashionedgardens，whichIhadalmosttomyself，unlesswhennowaarygardeningmanwoulde—aarinesandpeaguponthewalls，withoutmyevertopluckthem，becausetheywereforbiddenfruit，unlessnowandthen，—andbecauseIhadmorepleasureinstrollingaboutamongtheoldmelancholy-lookihefirs，andpiguptheredberries，andthefirapples，whichweregbuttolaboutuprass，withallthefinegardensmellsarintheery，tillIostfancymyselfripening，too；alongwiththeesandthelimesinthatgratefulwarmth—orinwatgthedacethatdartedtoandfrointhefishpoomofthegravehereagreatsulkypikehangingmidaterie，asifitmockedattheirimpertifrisking，—Ihadmorepleasureinthesebusy-idlediversionsthaniflavorsofpeaees，es，andsuonbaitsof.HereJohedbatheplateabunchofgrapes，whiobservedbyAlice，hehadmeditateddividingwithher，andbothseemedwillingtoreliheprese.
Theamhteoldhow，thrandmotherFieldlovedallhergrainanespeershemightbesaidtolovetheirunL.—，becausehewassohandsomeah，andakiofus；and，insteadofmopingaboutinsolitaryers，likesomeofus，hewouldmoutlesomehorsehecouldget，hemselves，acarryhimhalfovertheam，andjoierswhentherewereanyout—aheoldgreathouseaoo，buthadtoomuchspirittobealentupwithiies—andhrewuptomaeasbraveashewashaheadmirationofeverybody，butrandmotherFieldmostespedhowheusedtocarrymeuponhisbaIwasalame—footedboy—forhewasagoodbitolderthanme—manyamilewhenIotain；—andhowinafterlifehebecamelame-footedtoo，andIdidnotalways（Ifear）makeallowanoughforhimatientandinpain，norremembersuffitlyhowsideratehehadbeentomewhenIwaslame-footed；andhowwhehoughhehadnotbeendeadanhour，itseemedasifhehaddiedagreatwhileago，suchadistawixtlifeah；andhowIborehisdeathaskthoughtprettywellatfirst，butafterwardsithauntedandhauhoughIdidnotcryortakeittoheartassomedo，andasIthinkhewouldhavedoneifIhaddied，yetImissedhimalldaylong，aillthenhowmuchIhadlovedhim，Imissedhiskindness，andImissedhisess，aobealiveagain，twithhim（forwequarreledsometimes），ratherthannothavehimagain，andwasasuhouthim，ashetheirpooruhavebeeookoffhislimbo.Herethefelladaskediftheirlittlemwhichtheyhadonwasnotforun，andtheylookedup，atogoonabouttheiruotellthemsomestoriesabouttheirprettydeadmother.
&oldhowforsevenlongyears，iimes，sometimesindespair，yetpersistingever，IcourtedthefairAlid，asmuchasderstand，Iexplaiess，anddiffiddeinmadness—wheurningtoAlice，thesoulofthefirstAlicelookedoutathereyeswithsucharealityofrepreseIbedoubtwhistoodtherebeforeme，orwhosethatbrighthairwas；aoodgazing，boththegraduallygrewfaiomyview，redstillreg，fillnothingatlastbuttwomourureswereseeermostdistance，which，withoutspeegelyimpresseduposofspeech："WearenotofAliorofthee，norareweatall.TheofAlicecallBarmanfather.Wearenothihannothing，anddreams.Weareonlywhatmighthavebeen，andmustoediousshoresofLethemillionsofagesbeforewehaveexistenda;aelyawaking，Ifoulyseatedinmybachair，whereIhadfallehefaithfulBridgetungedbymyside—butJohnL.（orJamesElia）wasgoneforever.
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