#tf writing
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The Farmer's Curse - A TF AU
(Notes: This is a short TF scene combining writing with illustrations, set in a Stardew Valley AU with my character Gaius Caster as the farmer. The family farm is intrinsically linked with a 'blessing of nature' that manifests in whoever claims the land.
I was reminded of the old transformation RPs from the Dr. Moreau GaiaOnline forums, and one of the elements I missed was the long transformation write-ups. So I decided to 'be the visceral TF write-ups I want to see in the world' and finally get some of this AU out of my head and down in writing/art.)
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Gaius sat on the edge of his bed in the sad gray box that was his apartment. The remains of his instant noodles sat atop previous noodle cups, alongside empty Joja cans. The mess had accumulated forgotten amid the sleep-to-work-to-sleep grind of his daily life. But work wasn’t going to get in the way anymore.
Since he’d been fired.
Sorry. “Let go” to be precise. The department said they were “moving in a new direction” and that direction involved AI automation that did his work for zero cost. Not that Gaius had enjoyed the work, he’d never been a numbers guy, but he was sorely missing that paycheck. Rent was coming up and his bank account was severely lacking. This wouldn’t be the first time his payment was late, and the corporation that owned his apartment was consistent with reminding him of his ‘final strike’ status, courtesy of the automated calls.
He heaved a large sigh, setting aside the one beer he’d let himself indulge. His eyes fell on the tiny wooden box sitting by his bedside. He’d long forgotten it was there.
“Gaius, I’m not leaving this with you as a gift,” his grandfather had said. “It’s a responsibility - a terrible one. You have to promise me you’ll never open this box except as a last resort. You have to be certain there is no other path you would take. That you are willing to give up everything to change your lot in life.”
Gaius had accepted the wooden box with the assurance that he would keep the box safe and firmly locked. That had been mere days before his grandfather passed, and he’d kept his promise over the past year.
But now, staring down the barrel of piling debt, in a small cardboard thin apartment that cost most of monthly earnings, surrounded by trash and little else, Gaius was realizing: He was miserable. More miserable than he’d let himself realize. He’d rather do something drastic than spend one more day trying to survive in this city.
The box was small and cool, fitting easily in the palm of his large hand. It was built like a ring box though a good bit larger than one, and now Gaius wondered again what could possibly be inside that would warrant a deathbed promise. The outside was a dark wood, polished with rounded corners. Each side was adorned with similar carved images of round figures that Gaius could only associate with food mascots - like the dancing orange and apple caricatures on fruit gummy packs. A small brass latch shaped like a star kept the lid sealed.
He ran a thumb over the lid. Could this little box actually change anything? Was he really going to do this?
With a flick, he undid the latch and opened the lid.
A flash of green blinded Gaius. He dropped the box with a shout, shielding his eyes. Unseen to him, green misty energy swirled from the open box, seeping into Gaius’s body and vanishing from view. He blinked away flickering afterimages and rubbed at his eyes. “The hell was that…”
Cramping pain seized his legs. Gaius tumbled from the bed, hugging his legs. The muscles spasmed under his hands, as if triggered by an electric current. And with each rapid state of tension, they grew. Thickening, swelling.
A weird, hot, melting feeling crept up his feet and shins. Like stepping into hot mud. With it, a dull pain as his shoes compressed around his feet, cramping his toes and squeezing his heels.
But that was strange. Normally his cheap sneakers fit fine.
His right heel popped free from the shoe’s lip. Gaius staired, wide-eyed. His foot - his feet - were growing longer. Inches upon inches of length as the left one tore through the front of his shoe with a dull pop of the seam. He grabbed for his foot, momentarily forgetting the newly-muscled thighs now painfully squeezed by too-tight jeans. It was long, slender, bringing to mind an image of a dog’s leg. His sock came free as he changed position - jeans creaking in protest - and he let out a startled grunt. The second and middle toe had swollen to well over twice their regular size, pushing forward, while the digits beside them were receding. The sensation was like the swelling of a bee sting - hot, sore, and weirdly stiff. Stupefied by shock, he watched as the middle toes continued to grow, taking over the entirety of the end of his foot. His toenails grew longer, thickening, seeming to wrap around the ends of his toe-feet, the color shifting rapidly from pinkish to dark brown and off-black.
A single thought broke through the shock.
Hooves?
A jolt of pain dashed his thoughts. Gaius clutched his head as another throb coursed through his skull. Someone was pounding at his temples from the inside. A small, bony lump pushed against the skin beside each temple, slowly growing with each throb. Farther and farther the bony points pushed between his fingers, stretching the skin taught until it gave way, forced open with a small trickle of blood that was almost instantly swallowed as the torn edges re-sealed themselves around the nascent horns. As if unshackled, the horns grew faster, thickening at the base as they curled forward, pristine bone white fading to a dark near-black at the tips.
And while Gaius was preoccupied with the painful head-birthing of his new horns, his spine took the opportunity to join the fray. What started as a nub pushing at the back of his already-at-their-limit jeans quickly grew and snaked beneath the fabric. Coiling and twisting, the narrow muscled tail pushed its way over the waistband of his pants - a few seams popping open in the process - and lashed about with his pain and terror.
The throbbing in his head was starting to subside, allowing him to feel the prickling heat now surrounding his ears. The lobes shifted, skin stretching, as he felt them push away from the side of his head. The heat was contrasted sharply by the cold air he could feel across their expanding surface.
A wave of numbness followed by a million pins and needles swept down his spine, spreading beneath his skin, everywhere from his belly downward. Where the tingling lingered, thick, coarse hair follicles sprouted, covering his legs in a coat of dark brown hair - glossy and smooth. His ears also quickly sprouted a coat of their own, though theirs was a great deal softer, blending into his natural hairline.
How long he lay there, curled up on the floor in a ball of shock as his body and brain tried to make sense of everything, he couldn’t tell. His mind scrambled from thought to thought - this couldn’t be real - surely this was a dream - why him? - as the still-lingering aches in his body brought a painfully physical reality to his situation.
Why’d he open that box-
Oh! The box!
It took a moment for Gaius to right himself - horns catching on the edge of his mattress, limbs twisting around each other in new, awkward angles. He let out a yelp as shifting his weight accidentally crunched his tail under his rear.
His hooves scraped at the thin carpet as he crawled on his knees to the end of the bed where the wooden box had tumbled. Gaius reached fearfully for the opened box, but the wood remained innocently mundane as he picked it up, not a sign of any of the mayhem it had just inflicted around it. The only thing he noticed was a tiny strip of paper curled up in the bottom. He tugged it out and uncurled it in his fingers. There was some handwriting on it.
I know change is hard, but I promise - put in the work and everything will be okay.
For help, contact Lewis at this number. He’ll get you set proper.
A phone number was scrawled beneath it.
Gaius stared at the strip. Then took a deep breath.
Time to find his phone.
#transformation#transfur#tftuesday#tfeveryday#body horror#stardew valley curse au#evion art#gaius caster#bull tf#tf writing
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someone help me. i cant focus so fucking hard that ive done another motormaster/drag strip fic instead of my assignment and its making me lose my fucking marbles
The soft snick of panels coming open nearly made him open his optics again. Drag Strip was probably pulling something out of his subspace, though for what reason Motormaster couldn’t imagine. But it wasn’t like he liked screwing Motormaster. That wasn’t how that was supposed to work. So it didn’t make sense that it sounded to Motormaster like his modesty plating. Obviously he was just tired and maybe he’d had more charge crackling around his systems than he’d thought he had when he finally crashed.
filing this one under "fic that says in one line what id need to write 3000 words of meta to explain" i guess
#red rambles#drag strip forgets to leave before motormaster passes out and then wakes up in the middle of the night and is like. hm. so#what if i pulled a starscream. just for kicks. while he's asleep. he wont notice if i was like 'oooh motormaster has fallen and im in#charge' while i jerk off at his desk if he's asleep. it'll be great#and then of course motormaster is not asleep and is just staring there in the dark like =.= what the fuck is happening#LOOK HOW GOOD I AM AT DOING MY HOMEOWKR EVERYONE#tf writing#wip thread
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-Recording begins-
Spider-Man: Hi folks! I’d like to give a PSA to my usual villains, and anyone else with ideas for the next two months.
Spider-Man: *holds up a brick sized lump of metal* See this? It’s titanium!
Spider-Man: *starts flattening it out and shaping it*
Spider-Man: See, we all know that I’m crazy strong, but I never wanna really hurt anybody right? Right. While that hasn’t changed, something very important does right around this time of year.
Spider-Man: *pulls off a glove and pulls a chunk into a long stem with his nails carving lines for added texture*
Spider-Man: See, this is what we like to call exam season. Anybody who knows anything about college can tell you that it drives people up the wall, and I already climb mine when I’m antsy.
Spider-Man: *starts winding the thin sheet around the stem, delicately crimping petals in place*
Spider-Man: I do wanna be clear that this isn’t a threat, okay? I’m still not interested in crossing the line, which brings me to my point.
Spider-Man: *throws the titanium rose at the brick wall behind him, stem first, and embeds it all the way through*
Spider-Man: /That/ was restrained because I could focus enough to have full control. If I’m extremely tired or otherwise distracted, there’s just as much risk of me slipping up as someone operating heavy machinery. I’m probably not going to remember what sleep is for two whole months, so remember!
Spider-Man: *pulls out a brick and snaps it like a cookie*
Peter fucking Parker: Don’t.
#peter b parker#peter parker#ebony writes the thing#word girl#how tf did I forget to tag that smh#into the spider verse#also forgot to tag THAT ffs 🤦🏽#anyways. Miles and the other spider stumbled upon recordings of college!Peter B Parker. and uh.#this man is getting dragged across the multiverse lol. but he did in fact Ace his exams.
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I forgot how lonely it is to write original fiction.
Where are the kudos? The subscriptions? The comments? The people cheerleading me chapter to chapter? Where are the kind words and compliments and reassurances that what I'm writing isn't complete crap? Where are the unhinged emojis? The asks on Tumblr? Where are my mutuals in my dms apologizing for not reading the latest chapter right away (side note, you know you don't have to apologize at all, right??). Where is the fanart? Where are the recs?
Where is my motivation to keep going?
It's something I've been thinking about a lot, actually, lately. How the experience of writing fanfic is so unique. How you already have an audience, willing and waiting and captive. And that's really it, isn't it? You have an audience. It's almost performative, writing fanfic. It's being on a stage, a one-person show (or two, if you do it with a friend); it's getting live reactions to your performance, it's feeding off the energy of the crowd and informing it back in a feedback loop; it's improvised, sometimes, in almost-real-time. It's building something that you couldn't have built by yourself. A thing that takes on a life of its own.
It's an experience you can't get writing original fiction, and, honestly, not having it is making it hard to write something original at all.
#This is an ode to fandom in a way#Also side note like#How tf do you create OCs?#How I ask you???#Writing#Fandom#AO3#Fanfiction
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the first chapter of transformers: loyalty is out!!
#tf loyalty#tfl#transformers: loyalty#loyalty writes#transformers#transformers fan continuity#tf#tf writing#transformers writing#writing#fanfic#fanfiction
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task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.
-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)
thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.
one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.
cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.
he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.
"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.
you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."
his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."
you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.
johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.
three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.
manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.
"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.
you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."
a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"
you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."
the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.
"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.
"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.
"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.
"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"
it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.
johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.
"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.
johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.
"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.
"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"
you shudder.
"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.
he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.
"forty-three."
your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.
all you can manage is one question.
"take me home?"
#⌨️ : love's writing#will defs continue this later#just#ughhhhhh#call of duty#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost cod#mw2#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#soap cod#polyamory#poly cod#poly tf141#tf141 x reader#tf 141#captain price#johnny soap mactavish#john price#captain john price#cod x you#call of duty x reader#soap x reader#price x reader#gaz x reader#gaz x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you
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I feel like people miss the point of the "war is bad" message
What it's supposed to mean is that war is terrible, it's destructive, it ruins lives, it leaves scars, and you should only partake in it when there are no other options, because even if you win, even if you survive, you will not be the same, which is why the phrase used to be more commonly known as "war is hell"
But "war is bad" seems to have been construed by people in fandom into "any fighting is bad, if you fight you're morally terrible and impure, you should not fight at all, no matter what", this is annoying in fandom, as it often misses the point fiction is trying to make, but what's worrisome is when people apply this to real life, as I have seen people do regarding russia's invasion of Ukraine
And that's almost never the point of "War is Bad" works
Works like Lord of the Rings, Avatar The Last Airbender, Transformers, The Clone Wars, Halo (especially Reach), etc all have themes on how horrible war is, but they categorically do not say it is wrong to fight, what they say is usually along the lines of "war is terrible, and what makes it so terrible is that we have no choice but to fight, it would be ideal if we didn't have to fight at all, but we must fight, because not fighting is not an option, because not fighting, not opposing tyranny, conquest, and evil only allows those things to exist unimpeded"
#wooloo-writes#wooloo writes#war#war is hell#war is bad#lord of the rings#sw#star wars#lotr#avatar the last airbender#atla#transformers#tf#tcw#star wars the clone wars#sw tcw#halo#halo reach
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the 141 gets a therapy dog... and a therapy dog handler
when you first bring duke to 141, he eyes simon warily due to his mask...for all of a second before he's bounding over and demanding pets from the man. when you sense simon's hesitance, duke tempers his excitement the best he can under your command, sitting patiently despite his desperate tail wagging--simon will never forget the kind, understanding look in your eyes that started then and never left. it takes a few sessions for the two to bond fully, and even then simon won't admit how fond he is of duke (or of you, even if he smiles under his mask whenever he sees you.) something about you makes simon wish he could caress you too, could have you bounding over to him desperate for his touch.
kyle is obsessed with duke the moment he lays eyes on him. the two are inseparable when they're together, with kyle always fussing over the dog, playing with him, and sneaking him treats. sometimes you think he sneaks the treats to duke just to get your attention, his eyes always glinting with mischief as the overgrown pup sniffs around him for more snacks. when duke whines, kyle pouts, their moods often intertwined--and duke picks up a bit of a naughty streak from the man too. one day, you accidentally overhear kyle admitting that he bribes duke with snacks so that duke will prefer him over the others--because if duke wants to spend more time with him, he gets to spend more time with you.
johnny is still scared of dogs after his experience on missions, and he tells you this with a bright smile on his face as he tries to mask how he really feels. you decide to send duke to the crate you have set up for him so you can talk with johnny one on one, watching as he watches the dog cautiously. you don't expect to see johnny again, and understandably so, but he comes back every time. he only comes to see you, though he excuses it as 'getting over his phobia'. over time, he'll sit next to duke's crate and let him sniff through the bars (partly because he's learning to be more comfortable, partly because he loves the way you smile at him when he does.)
john and duke have an easy relationship--it's almost like the dog can sense that john is the true authority of the place, and he always awaits on the man's commands. john prefers to spend time with duke after he's been run ragged by kyle's tug of war sessions or simon taking him for a jog, as duke will curl up at john's feet while he works (and yes he'll take his boots off just to make sure the pup isn't uncomfy or scratched by any of the metal.) it just so happens that another major perk of this is that you'll join john in his office too, curled up on the shitty little couch and keeping him company while he works on the tiresome paperwork piled high on his desk--you don't comment on how duke is good for his health, as he smokes less because of the dogs' presence.
#soap mactavish x reader#simon riley x reader#john price x reader#kyle garrick x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#tf 141 x reader#call of duty x reader#bunny writes
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'Neighbourly advice.'
Captain Price x F!Reader
𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘹 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.
𝘊𝘞: 𝘜𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘖𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘳), 𝘗𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦/𝘋𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵.
𝘞𝘊: 5,282 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴.
𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴: 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦.
𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘢𝘱-𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹.
''𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦-''
𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.
𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦.
𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.
𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘬.
𝘐𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘣 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵-𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘫𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺.
𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶. '𝘈' 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶?
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯, 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪��𝘧𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘦𝘶𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.
𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.
𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵.
''𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?'' 𝘊𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.
''𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺. 𝘗𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘵.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘤��� 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 20 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘊𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳.
''𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴?'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 '𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥', 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯.
''𝘌𝘹. 𝘜𝘩, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘹, 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘖𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵.'' 𝘔𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴, 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.
''𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯?'' 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘶𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘦.
''𝘐𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
''𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦? 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.
''𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘮?'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴.
''𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
''𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭.'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵.
''𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯?'' 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.
''𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵, 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸.
''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺- 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?'' 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
''𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦.
''𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵- 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦.
''𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.
''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘈 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦.
''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵? 𝘐𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦.
''𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵? 𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘱𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘮.
''𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶?'' 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
''𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵.'' 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥.
''𝘠𝘦𝘴..'' 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.
''𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.
''𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶- 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶..'' 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
''𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘠/𝘕?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵.
''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦..'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.
''𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭?'' 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘣𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩.
''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺.
''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤, 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥.
''𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵.
𝘐𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺. 𝘕𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦.
𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦.
''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳.
''𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥- 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵-𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 ''𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.''
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘈 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘱.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦.
''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺.
𝘈 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳-𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.
𝘈 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴.
𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘱, 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.
''𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘺.
''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘶�� 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘻𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.
''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦-'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘙𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘳, 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯.
𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵.
𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 ����𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴.
𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺, 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦, 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮.
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴.
𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵.
𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵.
''𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.
𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘥–𝘦𝘶𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬–𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.
“𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.
𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.
''𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭?'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴.
𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸��𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬 “𝘝” 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘦, 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.
𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱, 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘋𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.
''𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.
''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥.
''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘰𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 with 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥.
''𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.
𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.
“𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥-” 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯.
𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘔𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘮.
𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴. ''𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-''
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬. 𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨. ''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.''
𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰��, 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
''𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘮?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.
''𝘖𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦-'' 𝘌𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
''𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯- 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬- 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦-'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦.
''𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘣 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
𝘞𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘩.
𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳.
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.
𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦.
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩.
''𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳. ''𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.''
#ah this was a bit rushed so i apologise for the bad writing#finally got to write the smut part even if it had to be months later#captain price#captain price smut#captain price x reader#captain price x you#captain price x female reader#john price#captain john price#cod smut#cod#call of duty#cod x reader#cod x you#task force 141#cod 141#141 x reader#tf 141#ghost smut#könig smut
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#ao3#writing#ao3 writers#ao3 memes#writer memes#how tf are they this tough#the devil works hard but fic writers work harder#come hell or high water they will write
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WIP Intros but Make It AITA Tag Game
I was tagged in this by @blind-the-winds :D it's so much fun.
I've basically only got fanfiction wips at the moment, so I'm going to do this for some of those. :D
tagging: @sebedenwrites (hi! :D), @heliopauseentertainments, @asher-orion-writes, @cleverthylacine, @rebornfromsea :D and anyone else who wants to do it can take it as an open tag from me, i wanna see all the AITA wip intros
a note for the non-transformers people - transformers are all basically the same age as soon as they're done being built. the ages look weird as hell because some characters are over four million years old and the other ones i like to write about were built like. last week. they're all adults, though; they are literally giant robots. It'd be strange if they weren't.
[Asshole] Am I the asshole for helping my friend and his crush get together?
I (6M M) am on a team with a socially awkward guy (6M M) who really sucks at dealing with his emotions. It hurts to watch, you know? He's had a crush on this other guy who was built a couple years back (4? 5? M, something like that) for a couple of years now, and a mutual friend of mine and the crush told me that the whole thing was requited even though my teammate is convinced it's not.
I never had a problem getting laid in my life, so I figured there was probably something going on here, and I asked my teammate and he said he's never really discussed this with his crush because he doesn't want to make the other guy uncomfortable and I asked my friend to talk to the crush and he said, get this, he said the same thing. So they both are just sitting on their feelings and moping about it for years. It's ridiculous. So I set up a little date for them at a cafe and told them to talk about their feelings honestly and with a little nudging got them to confess.
Now they're both mad at me. My teammate says if I ever pull that again he's going to kill me.
EDIT: They're specifically mad that I held them at gunpoint to get them to confess.
EDIT 2: Why are you all calling me the asshole now??? Someone had to do it.
EDIT 3: You guys have no idea how annoying it was to live around. I'm serious. Someone really had to do something or I was going to lose it.
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Am I the asshole for setting this kid up to fail?
I (∞Δ) work mostly as a death god these days, and me and my friend (∞Ω) have been keeping our eyes on this team of Decepticons (7M) that were built recently because they keep sending me work while being incompetent as it gets. Back when my friend was a little more active I cross-aspected into chaos godhood and while I don't do much of that these days, I hold a bit of a torch for the bad old days when I was driving entropy on a little more actively than I am now, and this team reminds me of the folks I'd put together back then.
But like I said, they're incompetent and they keep walking spikefirst into active war zones. All but one of them got themselves blown up and now they're down here with me. They're not so bad; I think they're funny. That's not what the issue is, that's just the way of the world.
Thing is, the fifth one lost his shit and walked out of his life to come find the entrance to my domain and get them back. Like we're talking full-on batshit levels of behavior. He listened to everyone saying he couldn't get them back and decided they were wrong and it was his responsibility to, or something, and then just left to go cross the planet until he found it.
This is funny as hell. Haven't seen anyone pull anything like that in centuries. Maybe even eons. So me and my buddy, I was bullshitting with him and I actually let this pissed off little truck head down into the underworld. You know, classic fairytale thing, they come down and they do the trials and they fail and then I get the whole set.
I'm not sure where to add it, but I think it's also worth a note that this truck keeps threatening to kill my subordinates and coworkers. He's not very nice, he's just funny to watch.
Anyway apparently my buddy wasn't aware that was the plan, that the whole idea was that I'd set forth impossible tasks and he'd fail. Now in fairness, my friend's a living god and he mostly sees the winners, who are even fewer and further between. He's all upset with me for setting this guy up for failure, convinced it's not fair. I'm pretty sure what would be unfair would be me letting this guy break the laws of nature just because I find him funny. I don't know, I'll let you guys answer. Am I the asshole here?
EDIT: Thank you guys, I've spoken it over with my friend and we've agreed that it makes the most sense to let them all go back to the overworld for now. I realize I've forgotten that I'm a chaos god first and a steward of the underworld second, and that throwing these five back upstairs to cause problems is the best thing I could do to balance out the fact that my friend keeps bringing his favorites back to life too. Thank you all for the input.
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AITA for murdering my therapist?
oKay so the autobots put me (uhhh like 6m) in jail and it sucked and then they cut me off from everyone i know and it SUCKED and then they put me in freaking. "therapy" with some therapist who was insistent that im energetic because i'm "too anxious" or something and they kept me in like full body bondage and shit and it wasnt even kinky and it SUCKED right like. for months. and they kept asking me stupid questions and it was really annoying and they kept not letting me see my old teammates and acting like I was stupid and putting me back in a cell. Eventually they said that I could go to the therapy sessions without being fully restrained if i behaved nicely so I played nice and then i got to kill the therapist and then tried to break my friends out. It almost worked but they caught up to us after we'd busted out two of five mecha and now drag Strip says that i fucked up because if i left the therapist alive we'd be away and scot free right now. Is that my fault? Aita or whatever?
#tag game#i dont remember any of the people i used to tag in these fjfjfh its been like a year#this was a TON of fun though#i hope everyone enjoys it#tf writing
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no ok i started spiraling into animated jazzwave ideas too its actually awful
#tfa#jazz#soundwave#no but the worst part is i keep only getting snippets of ideas and i dont have much patience for writing so im.stuck#my art#tfa microwave au#tf jazz#tf soundwave
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We Need You Back
TW : none.
What if you left the military because of health issue and decided to sign yourself back to college. Maybe you used to go to college but stop because of financial problem.
Working in the SAS for so many years means big paycheck and you’re barely having time to indulge yourself in luxury because of missions. It has made your bank account fat with money that you barely touch over the years. You don’t have to do any work or part time, just focus on studying.
One day, while you’re in class, suddenly all the window got shatter and door got forced open by bunch of men in military gear. Your professor look around in panic and anxiousness. On instinct, you reach for your knife that you hide in your boots but stop your movement when your eyes catches the familiar faces.
A bearded man with bucket hat approach you carefully, face stern but eyes soften as he took your form. “Sergeant Y/L/N,” Captain Price, your idol and the one who has help you many times, greeted you.
“Captain. I would say it’s good to see you but the circumstances seems to not be looking good...” you eyed the busted door on the corner of your eyes and also saw your former lieutenant, Ghost, standing there with your favorite mohawk guy, Soap and your bestie bug boy, Roach.
“Yeah... Sorry about the commotion, but we need you back.” Price said while Garrick hand you a bulletproof vest with a ‘sorry’ smile. At least he’s guilty, somewhat.
You heard whispers and looks from your new friends and the other students but all you can see/feel is the silent hopeful gazes of your old comrades.
You sighed out loud before grabbing the vest and putting it on, effortlessly. “Who’s the target?”
Ghost smirk under his mask, not worried at all since he knew you’ll be back. (Lies. He was worried you’ll decline and has loss sleep over it.)
Price smile knowingly and hand you a handgun while Soap goes to the professor to give them Laswell’s number for repairment.
Note : i do want to write this, but feel free to add your blurb too!
#darlingssaturn ‘s writing#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#john price x reader#captain price x reader#price x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#soap x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#cod x you#john soap mctavish x reader#cod x y/n#kyle garrick x reader#gaz x reader#task force 141 x reader#tf 141 x reader#task force 141#gary sanderson x reader#gary roach sanderson
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Leave a mark
MINORS DNI
Monster!John "Soap" Mactavish (with Poly Monster!141 at the end) x Male Reader
Cw: it starts off with Soap but the rest r mentioned and written but not as much as soap, marking with markers, nothing else I believe lmk
Silly thought but like imagine a monster reader who has crazy fast regeneration. Like deep cuts heal in seconds. Maybe you're a ghoul who just has crazy regen, or something like that.
Anyways,
Wouldn't a relationship between Soap, who loves leaving bites and see the aftermath due to his instincts as a werewolf and you who literally heals in seconds be interesting?
He loves getting fucked by you, but everytime he leaves a bit unsatisfied. It's not because you can't make him cum or anything, hell you can pull multiple orgasms from the guy and you have.
It's just that he can't leave satisfied knowing that he left a mark on you. He has bit you so much but the marks just won't stay. With the other members he can clearly see the marks he left on their neck and shoulders, even with Price who due to his dragon blood heals faster but the marks still stay for a day or two.
So everytime you two fuck, even if his ass if filled to the brim and his balls are empty he still whines because he can't leave his mark on you. You're a member of the 141, his pack, so it pains him that he can't put a claim on you like he has with the others.
So one day you get a bit creative.
One night in your room where he's riding on your cock, bouncing up and down while you lay your back on the bed, your hands gripping his hips and slamming him down on you as you cum. He leans down and bites as hard as he can on you as the feeling of you filling him up makes him cum. Pulling away and only being able to whine because he can't even admire his mark before it fades away.
"Aw, is puppy unsatisfied?" You tease and chuckle. And before he could insist that he was, you reached to the bedside table and picked up a red permanent marker, "why don't you mark me with this instead?" You say handing him the marker.
He huffs out a laugh at your little solution, but it's the best you got since you can't really make yourself regenerate slower. So he indulges, testing the marker on the back of your hand, the ink incredibly opaque so it stands out against your skin. Then he draws a bite mark at your neck then adds "Soap's Claim" in big letters, covering the whole left side of your neck.
He leans back, the bright red against your skin and the obvious letters, he finally sighs a sigh of relief.
It doesn't go unnoticed as well (just how he likes it)
The other members of the task force noticing Soap's eyes seem a bit brighter and his tail has been swaying peacefully the whole day. And that's where you enter, neck bare for everyone to see (it's the least you can do) Soap grins, happy to finally be able to show off his claim on you.
And now they want to have their names on your body too.
It's all color coordinated too now, Price who loves to write across your shoulder blades, with words like "Price's hoard" or just a simple "Price" with a heart next to it, it's simple but huge.
Gaz with a bright blue marker who likes to do it on your lower back (because he can also rest his head on your ass) writing something like "Gaz was here" and likes to draw wings on you. (Wing themed tramp stamp with 141 between the wings anyone?)
And Ghost with either white or black who loves to mark your chest, either a simple "ghost" or "Simon Riley" on each pec. Also likes to draw a ghost doodle on top of your heart.
And if you five fuck together, you aren't the only one who ends up having ink on you, but you'd have the most. And when you wake up to find a big arrow pointing to your dick and ass that says "Property of 141" written in multiple colors, you'd wish you could show it off.
#cod#cod x male reader#john price x male reader#tf 141 x reader#x male reader#cod mw2 x male reader#john price#john price x reader#price x male reader#price x reader#captain john price x male reader#captain john price x reader#soap x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#soap x male reader#john soap mactavish x male reader#ghost x reader#ghost x male reader#simon ghost riley x male reader#simon ghost riley x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick x male reader#gaz x male reader#poly141#poly 141 x reader#poly 141 x male reader#poly 141#guri writes#monster 141
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༊*·˚ NEW JOBS AND DEATH THREATS — cod x reader
CRAVE YOU — call of duty x reader CHAPTER ONE
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + alejandro vargas + rodolfo 'rudy' parra + könig + keegan p. russ
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, prison au, serial killer au, reverse harem, therapist/patient, medical inaccuracies, graphic violence, depictions of murder, everyone's unhinged, poly tf141, minor ships, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, this is not medical advice!!
series masterlist. read on ao3.
Life was hard. That was a fact.
Bills and groceries didn’t pay for themselves. That was also a fact.
Adding these two factors together, the final product will be a high-risk job in one of the highest-risk places on Earth. That’s… not a fact.
And yet, here you are, standing at the visitor entrance of Las Almas Prison, sporting a disgruntled grimace and a new pair of black slacks that you’d splurged on. They, at least, made your ass look good, although that was truly the least of your worries.
No. Your current list of worries looked something like this;
Getting Murdered
Getting Attacked
Vomiting Within The First Five Minutes Of Your New Job?
…Yeah. Something like that.
The early morning sun is blinding where it sits, just off to the side of the giant concrete building that was the main offices and Visitor Centre. The fact that you were standing in front of what was only a small part of the overall prison grounds was… alarming.
You were well aware that this was the largest prison in your country, housing the most lethal and awful of criminals. Some you’d seen either on the news, or heard of in passing conversations.
This was the real deal. And, somehow, you’d managed to find yourself being hired to work here. You. Work with serial killers. The worst of the worst.
With the stress on your bank account, and the endless struggle that was trying to find a stable career in the current job market, you simply had no other choice but to accept the offer. It paid extremely well, had great benefits, and your safety was… fairly considered.
The amount of NDAs, liability clauses and agreements, however?
Not the best at calming your nerves, to say the least.
The biting chill of the winter wind has you wrapping your arms around yourself, leather bag slung over your shoulder as you finally step through the automatic sliding door.
You’re not surprised to find that the chill only deepens inside the concrete walls of the building, with no heaters or air conditioning from what you can see. There is, however, bright white overhead lights that do nothing except aid the throbbing in the side of your head – probably due to the restless sleep you’d had the night before, anticipation and anxiety warring inside of your thoughts.
There’s an office in front of you as you step in, with only a few decades-old couches to your right, in front of a dingy TV that’s turned off. Saving their budget for more important things, you suppose.
The walls are a pale, grimy yellow, with sparse photos hung about, framing newspaper articles that are surely from the last century, and black and white pictures of the prison’s opening.
It’s an unsettling place, that much you’ve already gathered.
You haven’t even actually been inside the prison, you remind yourself, your stomach churning where it now lays at your feet.
Without a second thought, you continue with hurried steps to the front desk, where scratched plastic encases the sole woman inside, sitting behind a monitor. There’s a circle of holes that allow for sound to pass through, but other than that, there’s no way of entering from this room. With a quick study of your surroundings, you see a steel door to the left of where the desk sits, with a small square window covered in iron bars.
…Jesus christ.
“Can I help you?” The woman drawls, sliding her glasses further up her nose. Her voice is nasally, and the words come out in a slow drawl as she looks you up and down, unimpressed.
You give her your best smile, although even you can tell that it’s an uneasy one. “Yes! This is my first day, I think I’m supposed to be meeting Kate Laswell?” You ask, nerves betraying your voice with unsteady breaths.
The woman snaps her gum.
You stand there.
She blows it again.
You continue to stand there.
Her gaze is bored and completely void of any thought, before she nods slowly. “Laswell… I’ll call her.”
Really, you couldn’t be more shocked if you tried. What the fuck was happening? How could one lack so much… professionalism?
“Hi, Kate. Yes, it’s Jenny. I have a new hire who apparently wants to see you…” Her voice remains that unbearably slow, sloth-like delivery, before her eyes unhurriedly meet yours again. “What’s your name…?”
You give it to her, tone only the slightest bit impatient as you roll back on the heels of your feet. You can only hope that your black boots are appropriate; you’d figured that they were safe, closed-toe and still somewhat professional.
Time would tell. Jenny was giving you the impression that they were more than acceptable, because at least they got you to do your job in a timely manner.
Jenny says a few more words to who can only pray is Laswell on the other end of the phone, before she places it back in its holder.
“Laswell will be here any…” She pops her gum once more, and maybe, just maybe, you can understand the urge to murder. “Moment.”
You give her a tight, painful smile. “Thank you, Jenny.”
She doesn’t respond, and you decide to just stand back and wait. You certainly weren’t complaining – any more conversation with her would’ve ended with a severe lack of hair on your head.
A minute passes, before a buzz in the pocket of your slacks has your throat tightening.
Pulling out your phone, your next exhale comes out shaky as you read the text.
Charlie: get milk otw home used it all
No ‘good luck’. No… ounce of care for you, or the absolute stress that comes with a new job, let alone one like this.
When you’d told him about the offer, all he’d said was, “It might make you worth something for a change.” Didn’t even question, not for a minute, the risks that came with a job like this. He simply couldn’t give less of a fuck.
“Doctor?” The sound of a door opening, and the kind, almost motherly tone of the voice has you shoving your phone into your pocket once more as you turn to the source of the sound.
It’s a woman, her hair pulled back into a slick bun, one hand holding what seems to be a clipboard. Her other hand rests in the pocket of a white coat, not unlike one a scientist would be fashioning in a lab. Her smile is warm, the corner of her eyes crinkling as you direct a smile of your own her way.
“Kate Laswell?” You ask, extending your hand for her to shake. Taking her hand out of her pocket, she accepts it gracefully, nodding her head.
“The one and only,” she says, before gesturing to the steel door she’d entered through. “Now, today we’ll get you set up with a keycard, general rules, and I’ll have you meet two of your patients.”
You nod, following her as she swipes a card in a black reader, before the red light buzzes green, and she pulls the door open. Right behind her, you take an unstable deep breath as you take in the greyed, jagged walls, a complete contrast to the painted ones of the entrance room.
“We really are so glad to welcome you to our team,” she continues, her black work shoes clicking against the smooth concrete flooring. She doesn’t turn to you as she speaks, but her voice carries around the echoey hallway. “You’ll make a great addition. A necessary one, also. We’ve needed an innovative, young therapist for a while. Most of our… previous hires have held out-dated beliefs, and a lack of humanity for their clientele.”
That makes your brows furrow in confusion. “That’s… odd,” you murmur, before pausing your steps as Laswell stops, swiping her keycard, before entering another room.
As you step into the newly revealed space, your eyes go wide as you take it in.
It’s a wide, large space, with several floors. Metal staircases sit at either end of the vast space, allowing access to every floor. Guards sit at every level, some walking around the space where you and Laswell stand.
It’s a lot, all at once. You’d never even stepped foot into a prison – not before now.
“Most inmates are at the mess for breakfast,” Laswell supplies, turning to you with a neutral expression. She gestures for you to follow her back out of the space, and you do with hurried steps. “The ones you’ll be dealing with, however… they usually eat by themselves.”
You don’t decide to push that statement, not now, as you continue to follow her down the hallway.
“You won’t be seeing much of the prison,” she admits. “There’s heavily guarded spaces on the top floor for your sessions, both for your protection and for the safety of our staff and other low-risk inmates.”
You nod, humming a sound of affirmation as the two of you start heading up the cleaner steps at the end of the hallway. The staff staircase, you suppose.
“Today, you’ll be meeting two of our more… understanding ambers.”
You raise a brow. “Ambers? What does that mean?”
She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough to shoot you a knowing look. “Ambers are our highest-risk inmates. We house ten of them, and you’ll be dealing with eight as per your contract.”
Your stomach falls. You’d known, of course, that the risks were high when applying for this role. But… this was more than you’d imagined, in a way. Ambers. Huh.
Silence falls over the two of you as you make your way up the never-ending steps, no windows in sight. It’s unnerving, in a creepy, strange way. When you finally reach the top, you try and hide how out of breath you are from that small exertion.
Fucking christ.
Laswell, for her part, looks completely fine in an effortless way. You can’t eve find it in yourself to be envious. The feeling’s closer to admiration.
“Here’s the files on them both. You’ll be seeing Kyle Garrick first,” she hands you the clipboard she’d been carrying, and you accept it with only a slight tremble. She doesn’t comment on it, and you find yourself warming up to her already. “They’ll be restrained, and there is heavy security, so you needn’t worry about that side of things.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” you say earnestly, flipping through the files without reading much of anything, not yet.
She waves you off with a soft chuckle. “None of that. Kate’s more than fine,” she insists, and you give her a bright smile in return. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad – a boss like this was much better than a creepy middle-aged man any day of the week.
You don’t realise you’ve made it to a small room until she stops walking, scanning her keycard and pushing the door open, gesturing you in. “While you have your first two sessions, I’ll sort your keycard and the rest of the processes out. I wish you luck.”
With that, the door shuts behind you, and you’re alone in a small room.
It matches the rest of the hallways you’ve seen – grey concrete walls, grey concrete floors. The only furniture, however, is one metal table drilled into the floor in the centre, one chair on either side.
…It’s depressing. Not at all like you’d prefer, not for a fucking therapy session, but then again, you hadn’t met your clients yet.
Ambers. High-risk.
With a deep breath, you take a seat at the chair closest to you, finally reading through the top file on the clipboard.
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.
You skim over the height, weight, sex – immediately reading the comments made and his sentence.
Mass murderer. Motivated attacks.
Your eyes go wide, almost comically so, as you bite at your lip, folding one leg over the other as you continue to read.
Of course, you’d prepared, been made aware that you’d be dealing with murderers. But having it in black and white, right in front of you, is a whole other thing entirely.
Apparently, they were motivated attacks. Targets being large CEOs, specifically those with reported claims of misuse of power, and those against green laws. Anti-environment types.
The motive is… you’re aware killing is bad. You hadn’t spent years studying for a degree in Psychology to think otherwise. But it wasn’t as simple as some made it out to be. You’d done papers suggesting that certain motives implied healthier patterns, healthier outlets.
If you had to choose between him killing pregnant women, and CEOs with broken moral compasses?
It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out your answer.
You’re about to flip the page when there’s a knock on the door on the other side of the room, before it opens.
There’s two guards that walk in, before a man in an olive green jumpsuit follows, hands cuffed tightly together in front of him, head down. Another guard from behind shoves him in, too rough for your liking. You sit up straighter, eyes assessing as you take in the man in the jumpsuit.
He’s forced into the chair opposite you, before one of the guards grabs his cuffed wrists and chains them to a rig in the middle of the table. You’re grateful for the precautions, but there’s a part of you that feels guilty watching the manhandling of the seemingly calm man.
“Half an hour,” the most brutish guard of them all grits out, beer belly spilling out over his belted jeans. He jostles the chain attaching his wrists to the table unnecessarily, and your eyes narrow.
He goes to leave, along with another guard, but one stands to stay in position inside, beside the door.
Your brows furrow, and you speak up before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, sir, but my sessions will need confidentiality, as for the best results. I’m sure that I’ll be safe with his restraints.”
The guard stares you down, seemingly mulling your words over, before shrugging and leaving the room, door shutting behind him.
…Huh. Alright.
You find your posture relaxing, just slightly, which is odd, considering you’re now only a metre or two away from a convicted murderer.
His gaze is trained to the table, left foot tapping incessantly against the concrete floor.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz,” you say with a soft tone and a gentle smile. You figure that his nickname is the best bet, not wanting to stir up any possible traumas with his given name during your first session with the man. “I’ll be your new psychiatric evaluator.”
His eyes flick up, meeting yours, and he nods slowly, as if awaiting a punchline.
“Is it okay for me to call you Gaz?” You ask, tilting your head to the side and flipping to an empty page to take notes on. You’d need to grab a notebook from home, you decide.
He relaxes, only the smallest of movements, and he nods. “Gaz, yeah.”
Your smile widens at the small victory. Any step towards progress was a huge one, in your eyes. You’d be facing a lot of them in the coming days.
“Do you have any advice for this place?” You push, trying to form a bond of trust with the dark-haired man. “I’m gonna be honest, you’re my first patient, and I’ve only met Laswell and… Jenny?”
His mouth quirks at that, a dimple showing to the left of his mouth as he looks back up at you. “Jenny’s a character, ain’t she?”
You laugh, a genuine one, and nod. “She certainly is. You’ve met her?”
He shrugs, shoulders relaxing slightly. “Few times, yeah. She drives me up the fuckin’ wall.” His accent is only minimally apparent, but his voice is of a somewhat humorous tone.
Small victories.
“Well,” he exhales, settling into his chair a bit as he seems to ponder. “Do ya know who else you’re assigned to?”
You’d been sure to thoroughly go over your contract, and you were allowed to disclose your other patients between your others. They’d find out within the day, anyways, so there was no point in being discreet.
“It’s only you and a… John Price? Today. I’m sure I’ll find out the other six over the next few days,” you say, appreciating that he’s starting conversations. It’s more than you’d allowed yourself to hope for.
Gaz’s eyes light up, and even if you hadn’t been incessant in watching him, it’d be an obvious shift in emotions. “Price?”
You nod, quickly making a note on your clipboard, before folding your hands in your lap as you gesture for him to continue with a quick inclination of your head.
“He’s the best. Man’s a legend,” he enthuses. “Love ‘im.”
There’s… a hidden truth to that statement, that you make a mental note to unpack during a later session. Your smile is a natural one as you say, “He’s an amber, correct? Laswell told me I’d been assigned eight out of ten ambers… you’re one of them, right?”
Gaz seems to fold into himself, and you kick yourself for going back to square one. He answers, however.
“...Yeah. Only Ghost ‘nd Valeria are aggressive, though. We’re just… misunderstood,” he murmurs, and in the back of your brain, you find yourself believing his words.
“Thank you,” you smile, and he responds with a sharp one of his own. Maybe you’d covered more ground than you’d expected. “I think it’d been mentioned that I was only assigned men, due to the nature of the job, or something like that.”
Seeming to mull over your words, he starts to slowly nod. “Sounds ‘bout right. As long as you don’t get Graves, you’ll be alright. The others are… fuckin’ weird, but they’re good men. Mostly.”
That’s a lot of information at once, and quite frankly, it takes a moment for you to process.
“‘Good men’. What do you think it takes to be a good man?” You ask, curiosity laced into your tone. Getting to ask such questions of a convicted murderer, it’s a thrilling, exhilarating task.
His eyes don’t shift as he replies. “Good men do the acts others are too scared to do. They see the evil in the world, and rid of it with their own bare hands. You can be an ethical murderer, Doc.”
Those words, they’re – they’re authentic, and conviction aches in their structure.
You swallow around a dry mouth.
“You think you’re a good man?” You ask.
His smile would be seen as warm to any who weren’t aware of his acts, but to you – it’s chilling. Haunting in a way you’ve never experienced.
It remains as he answers.
“I think that I’m a man who people wish they had the bravery to be.”
a/n. okay so im really nervous about posting this, cause ITS EIGHT FUKCING LOVE INTERESTS and also im a humanities girl not a science one!! sociology all the way not psych!! so forgive me for all the inaccuracies and legality issues please. im just a girl. hopefully u guys will like this one? i mean, obsessed serial killers cod is smth i need so here we are. all comments and feedback mean so muchhh ty ily mwah mwah mwah
taglist comment/msg to be added. [nothing to see here.]
#🤍 : crave you#⌨️ : love's writing#cod mw2#call of duty#mw2#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#soap cod#tf 141 x reader#tf 141#john price#kyle gaz garrick#task force 141#141#ghost x soap x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#soap x you#soap x reader#price x reader#price x you#gaz x reader#gaz x you#gaz cod#alejandro x reader#rudy x reader#rodolfo x reader#konig x reader#keegan russ x reader
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Someone save Isami... please
I almost choked and died watching the first two episodes of Bang Brave Bang Bravern holy crap- If the Lost Light crew was a headache to Megs, Bravern would single-handedly cause him to have 2 spark failures and put him into 4 year long coma
#I need to know what the writers were on writing this show oh my god it's so funny#Bravern is banned from both the Autobots and Decepticons#mirage#noah diaz#transformers rotb#tf rotb#rotb mirage#transformers#maccadam#maccadams#transformers fanart#bang brave bang bravern#bravern#ao isami#wth is the acronym for this show- bbbb?????#bravern fanart
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