kcfgogbfalgfl
Auto-translated
"Of hatred for the despicable vegetable now must I compose a sonnet..." — thought Ambrose, but despite his hatred of pumpkins and the grievance over his horse being beaten once again, he gallantly helped his opponent to her feet.
-- What a desperate spirit is hidden in such a fragile body! Behind a comely face, a most dangerous talent.
- I believe I am fading, my lord... - The loser clutched her side, from which, despite the doctors' efforts, something liquid was seeping. - ... Oh, it's just melted chocolate. What a loss.