He began to talk and laugh, in happy, thoughtless, boyish fashion, as we walked along, and made himself old friends with me at once; asked me all sorts of questions about myself and about my clothes, but never waited for an answer--always chattered straight ahead, as if he didn't know he had asked a question and wasn't expecting any reply, until at last he happened to mention that he was born in the beginning of the year 513.
It made the cold chills creep over me! I stopped and said, a little faintly: "Maybe I didn't hear you just right.

Say it again--and say it slow.

What year was it ?" "513." "513! You don't look it! Come, my boy, I am a stranger and friendless; be honest and honorable with me.

Are you in your right mind ?" He said he was.
"Are these other people in their right minds ?" He said they were.
"And this isn't an asylum?
I mean, it isn't a place where they cure crazy people ?" He said it wasn't.
"Well, then," I said, "either I am a lunatic, or something just as awful has happened.

Now tell me, honest and true, where am I ?" "IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT." I waited a minute, to let that idea shudder its way home, and then said: "And according to your notions, what year is it now ?" "528--nineteenth of June." I felt a mournful sinking at the heart, and muttered: "I shall never see my friends again--never, never again.