\"'Mister!'\" he said with a sawdusty sneeze, \"\"I am the Lorax. frisking about in their Bar-ba-loot suitsas they played in the shade and ate Trufulaf Fruits.if you're wilgiln to pay.Īnd, under the trees, I saw Brown Bar-ba-loots. You won't see the Once-ler.Don't knock at his door.He stays in this Letkitn, cold undet the toof,where he makes his own clothesout of miff-muffered moof.And on special dank midnights in August,he peeksout of the shuttersand sometimes he speaksand tells how the Lorax was lifted away. t The o1d O.a.�l� 8tilllivo hCic.Aak him.is the Street of the Lifted Lorax.Īnd deep in the Grickle-grass, some people say,if you look deep enough you can still see, today,where the Lorax once stoodjust as long as it couldbefore somebody lifted the Lorax away. the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows and no birds ever sing excepting old crows.
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