“Borch.” The white-haired man turned around from his horse and looked into the stranger’s bright eyes. “I wouldn’t want anything left unclear between us. I’m a witcher.” “I guessed as much. But you said it as you might have said ‘I’m a leper.’” “There are those,” Geralt said slowly, “who prefer the company of lepers to that of a witcher.” “There are also those,” Three Jackdaws laughed, “who prefer sheep to girls. Ah, well, one can only sympathise with the former and the latter. I repeat my proposal.”
