Andrzej Sapkowski. The Sword Of Destiny (№ 220864)

- Tell me, Buttercup, impatiently threw a witch. - Can't stay here until evening.
Bard grasped with the fingers of the fingerboard of the lute, has sharply hit the strings.
- How do you prefer, poetry or normal speech?
- Normal.
- All right. Buttercup however does not put down the lute. - Listen, gentlemen, what happened a week ago nepodal city free, Gollapalem betrothed. So, early in the morning, barely rising sun would redden hurting hanging over the fields and meadows fog veils...
- It decided normal! reminded Geralt.
- Isn't there? Okay, okay. Understand. Briefly, without metaphors.