"But I don't want to go among mad people," the girl said. I languorously arched my back.
"Oh, you can't help that. We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" A second's pause. I couldn't tell from her dress or shoes if she was mad, the madness might be embedded quite deep, just waiting for a way to climb out. But she didn't look mad, and even though I really couldn't tell, her eyes were clear and bright and voice sweet.
"You must be. Else you wouldn't be here." Everyone who's here is mad.