“Alice's eyes sparkled, but not with mirth; there was a sinister candescence to them, lined in more black kohl than usual. 'A knife,' she replied calmly. 'A what?' I practically yelped. 'A knife,' she repeated, unwrapping the brown paper to reveal a smooth, olive wood penknife with the intials A.K.W. engraved in a crusive font. 'I had it customised, because I am nothing if not pretentious.”