…and on coming to myself the garden had vanished, and I found that I was — well, it took me a long time to make out what I was, but I at length discovered — that I was a pair of high-heeled boots, and that I had on the top of me a pair of feet — red-hot, perspiring feet that chafed my skin, squashed me in all my most tender parts, and dragged me with them over sharp, jagged stones, hot asphalt pavements — the smell of which made me retch and vomit — dusty roads that blinded me, and tarry roads that stuck together my lips and eyelids. The torments of purgatory are not to be compared with those I was now compelled to undergo. Whenever I endeavoured to halt, the toe-nails stabbed me in the stomach, the ankle bones prodded my ribs, and the heels came down…

…shadows from the great, gaunt trees that stole out one by one to look at me. At length I came to an opening in the wood, in the centre of which was a fountain; and standing by it, with his back to me, I saw the figure of a man in a tight-fitting suit of Lincoln green, his head covered with a hood, a quiver full of arrows at his side, and a bow in his right hand. At the sight of him my heart leaped into my mouth, for I guessed, at once, he was the huntsman of whom I had so emphatically been told to beware. Had I not been prevented by one of those spells so common in dreams, I should have turned back, but try how I would I could not stir from the spot, and I had no choice other than to stand there, sick…