‘You struck him too hard.’ ‘That was my intention,’ said Geralt, wiping the sword blade with a napkin taken from the table. ‘Dandelion, how are you? Everything in order? Can you stand?’ ‘I’m good, I’m good,’ gibbered Dandelion. ‘I’m feeling better. Much better . . .’ ‘You don’t look like someone who’s feeling better.’ ‘Dammit, I’ve barely escaped with my life!’ said the poet, getting to his feet and holding on to a bureau. ‘For fuck’s sake, I’ve never been so afraid . . . I felt like the insides were falling out of my arse. And that everything would drop out of me, teeth included. But when I
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