Some guy hit my car fender the other day, and I said unto him, "Be fruitful and multiply." But not in those words.
The smell of buttered toast simply talked toToad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.Kenneth Grahame
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