The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlor firesides on winter evenings.
After that, Afanasy Ivanovich would go back in and, approaching Pulkheria Ivanova, would say: “Well, now, Pulkheria Ivanovna, isn´t it time we had a little bite of something?” “What could we have now,