bellows. I could not bear it, and tried to make him stop.
"Breathe in a quieter way," I said.
"Why? It does not matter, Bachka, I'm not tired; I can warm your snout, Bachka."
Of course his having said "snout" did not offend me, because I had no ambition at that moment, and I repeat that for the expression of useless niceties such as making a distinction between an animal's snout and a man's face, no separate words existed in their language. Everything was snout; he himself had a snout, his wife had a snout, his reindeer had a snout, his god Shigemony had a snout. Why should a bishop not have a snout too? My grace could put up with this easily, but the difficulty was to endure his breath, the stink of dried fish, and some other disgusting odour—probably the stench of his own stomach—I could not stand it.
"It's enough," I said. "Stop, you have warmed me; now, don't blow any more."
"No, Bachka, we must blow, it will be warmer."
"No, please don't; you've bored me enough with it—I don't want it."
"Well, Bachka, if you don't want it, we needn't. Now we can go to sleep."
"Go to sleep."
"And you, Bachka, go to sleep."
