The Tower of Swallows (The Witcher, #4)

by Andrzej Sapkowski

Had Mother Nature wanted me to swim, in the act of creation and the process of evolution she would have equipped me with webbed fingers.

Dandelion a fool.

“You must be jesting. It’s Est Est from Toussaint, the grapes picked when our gracious emperor, Emhyr, was a mere nipper, shitting in his cradle. It was a good year. For wine. Cheers, Leo.”

A spy if Vattier? He was drinking this same wine and made the same comment.

Having unfastened her sturdy, leather belt, Milva had seized it by the buckle, wound it around her fist, fallen on the fighters and begun to flog them with lusty blows, with all her might, sparing neither the strap nor her arm. The belt whistled and fell with a dry crack first on Cahir’s then on Geralt’s arms, back and shoulders. When they parted, Milva hopped from one to the other like a grasshopper, thrashing them evenly, so that neither of them received any less or any more than the other.

Howling with laughter 😂😂