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𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘹 𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵, 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳! 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯.

·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·

𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾’𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋, 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿-𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗀𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾’𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀.

“𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍, 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋, 𝖨’𝗆 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾! 𝖬𝗒 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝗐,” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗒𝗐𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗋. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗌 𝗎𝗉, 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽-𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋. 𝖠 𝗀𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌.” 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍?”

“𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄, 𝖡𝖾𝗇.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄—𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗄—𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍-𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.”

“𝖨’𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖨’𝗆 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽!” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗀𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝖼𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗒,” 𝖮𝗁, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒? 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?”

“𝖮𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗌,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇, 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍��𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖳𝗈𝗄𝗒𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌.

“𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾! 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖦𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖺 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌,” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗌, 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋-𝗈𝖿-𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍.

“𝖭𝗈, 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗌𝗈. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖸/𝗇,” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌.

𝖰𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽.” 𝖭𝗈𝗉𝖾. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾.”

“𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍!” 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗎𝗉.” 𝖬𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖨 𝖽𝗈?”

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝖠 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗌.” 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇, 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋.”

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝗒𝗐𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖿 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗉 𝗍𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍.

“𝖣𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋,” 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀.” 𝖣𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺’𝖺𝗆.”

“𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌𝗄, 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗍-𝖼𝗅𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗍. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗉 𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋’𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆.

“𝖬𝖺’𝖺𝗆, 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅. 𝖲𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄, 𝗆𝖺’𝖺𝗆,” 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗉𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗒 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗍. 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇, 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝖻𝗈𝗐. 𝖲𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾’𝗌. 𝖠𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽.

“𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝖽𝖽𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗉. 𝖠 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝗎𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌.

𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽, 𝗃𝗈𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗎𝗉. 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋’𝗌 ��𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗒 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖾. 𝖧𝖾’𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍.

“𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆. 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍-𝗈𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾.” 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽.

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝖦𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍—𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌—𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

“𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋, 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝗀? 𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗍.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇.

“𝖸𝖾𝗌, 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝗆𝖺’𝖺𝗆.” 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾, 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌.

𝖧𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗂𝗋𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗎𝗉, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒.

“𝖧𝗂, 𝖨’𝗆 𝖣𝗋. 𝖫/𝗇. 𝖢𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖮’𝖱𝖾𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗄,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖤𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁. 𝖨𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖾𝗋—𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗈.

“𝖸𝖾𝗌, 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒.” 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽.“ 𝖬𝖺𝗒 𝖨 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋?” 𝖨𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝖿𝖿.” 𝖧𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗉𝖾𝖺,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗈, 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇.

𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗒 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎.” 𝖧𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈, 𝖽𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺’𝖺𝗆.”

“𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝖨𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗉𝖾—“

“𝖦𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗍, 𝗆𝖺’𝖺𝗆.” 𝖧𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉, 𝖽𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾. 𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾.” 𝖧𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈.”

“𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝖱𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗋,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗌𝗁 𝗇𝗎𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁.” 𝖫𝖾𝗍’𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖾?”

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝗎𝖻𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗀��𝗍 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗈, 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾. 𝖫𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗒, 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒.

“𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄,” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄-𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗒.

“𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾,” 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒, 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝖽.” 𝖨’𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍.”

“𝖸𝖾𝖺𝗁, 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗌.” 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝖨’𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖾.”

“𝖶𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇’𝗍, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾,” 𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆—𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖪𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖺 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗈𝗇. 𝖠 𝗇𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗉𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗈𝗇.

𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌, 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗄𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄. 𝖠 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝟦𝟢𝟩𝟩𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖼.

“𝖲𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗍? 𝖠𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗒𝖺𝗋𝖽,” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗃𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽?

“𝖭𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋—𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇. 𝖶𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗌, 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖽𝗈𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗐𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺-𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀.” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉.

𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄. 𝖦𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

“𝖮𝗁, 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄. 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋!” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾.

“𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝖨 𝖺𝗆,” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍.” 𝖧𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋? 𝖲𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗈𝗋. 𝖠𝗇𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋.”

“𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒,” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇.” 𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄?”

𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀—𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽—𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀.

“𝖲𝗁𝖾’𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋.” 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝗌 𝖺 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗂𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁. 𝖠𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖾, 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗅𝖼𝖾𝗋. 𝖧𝖾’𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼.

“𝖠𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀,” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗌.” 𝖲𝗁𝖾’𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗀𝗎𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗌. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎.”

“𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗌, 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝗎𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅.” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝖭𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝖦𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗌.

“𝖠𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗉𝖺𝗅.” 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗉𝗌 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋.” 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖨𝗍’𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍.”

𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽.

𝖨𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗅𝖻𝗈𝗐-𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍’𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝖨𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖥𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖬𝗎𝗅𝖼𝖺𝗁𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝗐𝖺𝗆𝗉.

𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝖼𝖾—𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆. 𝖧𝖾’𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁, 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖻𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖻, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿.

“𝖯𝖾𝗇𝗇𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌,” 𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝗎𝗆, 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗂𝗋𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾. 𝖧𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗇𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗇𝗈𝗐.” 𝖧𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍—𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐?”

“𝖡𝖾𝗇, 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾-𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗒, 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽.

𝖨𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖳𝗈𝗄𝗒𝗈. 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗉𝖽𝗈.

“𝖱𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒.” 𝖧𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁��𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽.” 𝖧𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋?”

“𝖠 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝖾𝗍, 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁. 𝖧𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌.” 𝖨 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝖾’𝖽 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖬𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗀𝗈 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖭𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝖢𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖺. 𝖬𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗆’𝗌 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎.”

“𝖶𝖾’𝖽,” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗉𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗎𝗉.

“𝖣𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗂𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗒, 𝖡𝖾𝗇,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋?

“𝖭𝗈. 𝖭𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖦𝗈𝖽, 𝖨 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍.” 𝖧𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗀𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌.

𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽. 𝖨𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖥𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗋, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌.

𝖠𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆.” 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋, 𝖡𝖾𝗇?”

𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗌, 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌,” 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾.” 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽, 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋.

𝖬𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌—𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋—𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖧𝖺𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖯𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐.” 𝖨 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼, 𝖡𝖾𝗇.”

𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗍. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗀, 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆.” 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖨 𝗌𝖺𝗒? 𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝖾.”

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callsign-scully · 10 months

Text

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒

𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘹 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

“𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.”

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘹

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

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𝖥𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌, 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗊𝗎𝗈𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗎𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇. 𝖸𝖾𝗍, 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒, 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍, 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗇’𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗉. 𝖠 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍, 𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽.

𝖥𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗇’𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿. 𝖸𝖾𝗍, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗒𝖺𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖿𝗅𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖡𝖺𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇.

𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌,” 𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗅.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾. 𝖠 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌, 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾.

“𝖨 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝖨’𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒—𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒, 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗇. 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗄, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖦𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗒.” 𝖨 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒.”

“𝖨 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽.” 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌, 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌.” 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗐𝖾’𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝖸/𝗇.”

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝗈𝗑 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗉𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗉𝖺𝗅𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍.

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖻 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝖼�� 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾.

“𝖨 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖬𝖺𝗑 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗅,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌.

𝖡𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗀𝗈. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖺𝗐𝗇𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖣𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗄’𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋.

𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗐𝖽𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

“𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌.” 𝖮𝗇𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝖪𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖣𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗎𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖻 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗋.”

“𝖨’𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗅 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋.”

“𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗍.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗅𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.” 𝖨 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗇’𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽.”

“𝖨𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝖻𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗎𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗌𝖾. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋, 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗃𝖺𝗐 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗄𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗉. 𝖣𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖤𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗇’𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗇𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

“𝖳𝗈 𝗆𝖾, 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁,” 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾, 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇—𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍. 𝖢𝗈𝗈𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝗍 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍.

𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗉 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗌, 𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍.

“𝖶𝖺𝗂𝗍. 𝖧𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗇.” 𝖧𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗄’𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿.” 𝖧𝖾𝗒, 𝗐𝖾’𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗅. 𝖢𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.”

𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌, 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾.” 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?”

“𝖸𝖾𝖺𝗁, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄.”

“𝖮𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾,” 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝖽, 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇.

𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾’𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝗐𝖽𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖨𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋𝗌.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉, 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗉𝗎𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖡𝖺𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖻𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝗎𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖻𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄.

𝖣𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗎𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽.

𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗄𝗒. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄, 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖥𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍, 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄.” 𝖧𝖾𝗋𝖾,” 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌. 𝖦𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝖻𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖻𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇.

“𝖭𝗈, 𝖨’𝗆 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗓𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗀𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒. 𝖨𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗈, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗌.” 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽, 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾.”

“𝖨’𝗆 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎,” 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗌, 𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌. 𝖠 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖡𝖺𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒.

𝖠𝗅𝗍𝗁��𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗂𝗍 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗇𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗋, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗂𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖾.

𝖠𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗄𝗒. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗌, 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄.

“𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖳𝗂𝗇𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍—“

𝖠𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒, 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍-𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝖽𝖾𝗌. 𝖦𝖺𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋.

“𝖣𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾! 𝖶𝖾’𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗄𝖾𝖽,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆, 𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖾. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗍𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄. 𝖦𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌.

𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋. 𝖸𝖾𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖻 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍, 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾-𝗌𝗍𝗒𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌.

𝖠𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋, 𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇—𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗅 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋—𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾’𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾—𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗄𝗒, 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. 𝖠 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇, 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖻𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌.

𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗈𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗅𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗌, 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗍. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗈, 𝗇𝖺𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗋𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋—𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗂𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾—𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝗄𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖲𝗈, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌.

𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖨𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗁—𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗂𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖲𝗈, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁.

“𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖾,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒.

“𝖸𝖾𝖺𝗁.” 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍.” 𝖨 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽—“

“𝖨 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗄. 𝖫𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌.

“𝖸𝖾𝖺𝗁. 𝖨’𝗅𝗅—𝗎𝗁, 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖥𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍?” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝖽, 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌.” 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘵.”

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗌. 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗈 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍-𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋. 𝖧𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗅 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾.

“𝖫𝖺𝗇,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋, 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽.” 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇’𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌.”

“𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍,” 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖽.

“𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍,” 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗍𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗐–𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆–𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗐𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒.

“𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅. 𝖨’𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗉,” 𝖫𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗍𝖾𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖲𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆–𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍-𝗂𝖿𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀.

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