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“When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; & a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, & 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 & slippered feet were propped on the fender, of the purring of contented cats, & the twitter of sleepy canaries.” –The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame
All images ©Charissa Leong, unless otherwise stated.