“Curiouser and curiouser!” cried Alice (she was so much surprised that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English).
The Mad Hatter eyed her, with a moment of stark lucidity.
“How much curiouser can you be, child? Unless it is a contest with oneself, it really is rather ludicrous to continue to heap curiosity upon itself.”
With that, he removed his rather large hat from his rather large head. Alice wondered how his pencil neck supported such weight, and then stopped wondering just as quickly. Perhaps he was right. It was not her neck bearing the weight, after all. What did it matter?
The Hatter’s head began to shrink. His hat took on a much more reasonably tophattish nature. He looked quite like… like the men who worked with Alice’s father at Christ Church.
As alarming as it had been to see the Hatter the first time, it was twice so somehow to see him transform, each quirk smoothed into the Average Man.
“Very good, child,” he nodded, sipping his ordinary black tea from his ordinary white cup. “You are growing up.”