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- Анджей Сапковский
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- Ведьмак: Кровь эльфов
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- Стр. 139/356
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"
It
's
mouldy
oil-meal
bread
.
Excellent
medicine
.
Roll
it
into
little
halls
.
Smaller
,
smaller
,
they
're
for
a
magician
,
not
a
cow
.
Give
me
one
.
Good
.
Now
we
're
going
to
roll
the
ball
in
medicine
.
"
"
Eeeeuuuugggghh
!
"
"
Stinks
?
"
The
dwarf
brought
his
upturned
nose
closer
to
the
clay
pot
.
"
Impossible
.
Crushed
garlic
and
bitter
salt
has
no
right
to
slink
,
even
if
it
's
a
hundred
years
old
.
"
"
It
's
foul
,
uugghh
.
Triss
wo
n't
eat
that
!
"
"
We
'll
use
my
grandmother
's
method
.
You
squeeze
her
nose
and
I
'll
shove
the
pellets
in
.
"
"
Yarpen
,
"
Geralt
hissed
,
emerging
abruptly
from
the
darkness
with
the
magician
in
his
arms
.
"
Watch
out
or
I
'll
shove
something
down
you
.
"
"
It
's
medicine
!
"
The
dwarf
took
offence
.
"
It
helps
!
Mould
,
garlic
...
"
"
Yes
,
"
moaned
Triss
weakly
from
the
depths
of
her
cocoon
.
"
It
's
true
...
Geralt
,
it
really
ought
to
help
...
"
