Shove that under your feet,’ he observed to the Mole, as he passed it down into the boat. Then he untied the painter and took the sculls again. I have mixed drinks about feelings shirt. `What’s inside it?’ asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity. `There’s cold chicken inside it,’ replied the Rat briefly; `coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssan dwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater. O stop, stop,’ cried the Mole in ecstacies: `This is too much!’

I have mixed drinks about feelings shirt

`Do you really think so?’ enquired the Rat seriously. `It’s only what I always take on these little excursions; and the other animals are always telling me that I’m a mean beast and cut it VERY fine!’ I have mixed drinks about feelings shirt.  The Mole never heard a word he was saying. Absorbed in the new life he was entering upon, intoxicated with the sparkle, the ripple, the scents and the sounds and the sunlight, he trailed a paw in the water and dreamed long waking dreams. The Water Rat, like the good little fellow he was, sculled steadily on and forebore to disturb him. `I like your clothes awfully, old chap,’ he remarked after some half an hour or so had passed. `I’m going to get a black velvet smoking-suit myself some day, as soon as I can afford it.’ `I beg your pardon,’ said the Mole, pulling himself together with an effort. `You must think me very rude; but all this is so new to me. So–this–is–a–River!’ `THE River,’ corrected the Rat. And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!’

How to buy it?

`By it and with it and on it and in it,’ said the Rat. `It’s brother and sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and drink, and (naturally) washing. It’s my world, and I don’t want any other. What it hasn’t got is not worth having, and what it doesn’t know is not worth knowing. Lord! the times we’ve had together! Whether in winter or summer, spring or autumn, it’s always got its fun and its excitements. When the floods are on in February, and my cellars and basement are brimming with drink that’s no good to me, and the brown water runs by my best bedroom window; or again when it all drops away and, shows patches of mud that smells like plum-cake, and the rushes and weed clog the channels, and I can potter about dry shod over most of the bed of it and find fresh food to eat, and things careless people have dropped out of boats!’