Novel Bin
Chapter 376: Was this really her?
Chapter 376: Was this really her?
The same night …
Aiden was working in his study when he heard hasty steps approach him.
Without lifting his gaze, he asked, "What made you panic suddenly? Did you encounter any problem in buying the shares?" he asked nonchalantly.
Emyr hesitated.
When Aiden didn't hear him speaking even after a few seconds, he glanced up at him from the documents.
"What is it?
"Sir, someone seems to be investigating you."
Emyr just received the information from his sources that someone is trying to investigate his boss's identity and even beyond it.
No ripple of surprise came to Aiden's expression. It was as if he had expected it to come sooner or later.
"Didn't you already reveal my identity the last time? Are they not satisfied with what they come to know about me?" he asked.
Emyr's expression turned a bit more serious than before. "Sir, it's not Ryan Foster this time," he said.
And Aiden seemed to pause at that. His expression remained unreadable. "Who else?"
"It's …" Emyr hesitated for a second but then spoke, "it seems to be Madam's grandmother."
"Granna?" Aiden asked, skeptical.
Emyr nodded before continuing, "Yes, I received the information that someone from Davies Empir is trying to look into you and the Winslow family."
After pondering for a moment, Aiden relaxed. "It's fine. Let them investigate if they want to. Don't stop."
"But sir —" Emyr didn't think it was right. After all, his boss's identity has always remained mysterious.
But one gaze from Aiden was enough to put him to silence. He didn't dare to speak more.
"She is not just anyone," Aiden's voice came soft, yet it held a thunder beneath. "She is not any outsider but your lady's grandmother. She holds all the rights to investigate me and the Winslows. Don't stop her."
Emyr nodded. There was one thing that he realized today. As long as there is someone whom the lady respects or treats well, his boss will automatically treat them better.
Was this just too biased?
It definitely was …
But could he complain?
He couldn't; hence, he just nodded and accepted it as a command.
Anyway, he felt that old lady wasn't out to harm. So, it must be fine.
***
Later, deep at night, Arwen was once again enveloped in the moment of the memories that seemed to be unfamiliar yet very familiar to her.
It was a bright sunny day, and she could a see a young girl at a distance.
Arwen couldn't move, but she could watch it all as if she was there to be the audience.
"Ide, let's take the picture here," a young girl said before turning her head in Arwen's direction.
And that face stunned Arwen for a second.
This was her —her younger self.
The girl smiled before looking up at the sky. "The sunlight is just coming right in this angle, and it will make me look more beautiful. Come fast."
Ide?
Arwen didn't understand, and just when she thought the girl was talking to her, she heard a voice from her side and saw a young guy walking ahead.
"You don't need a sun to make yourself look beautiful, Moon. You already are," he said as he walked to the girl and then raised his hand slowly to brush her hair with his fingers, gently.
Arwen's brows furrowed as she tried to understand and see the face of the boy, but it was too blurred for her to recognize him. It was as if she simply couldn't tell what he looked like.
But how was that possible?
How could she not see him? Wasn't he just there?
If she could see herself there —all clear and happy, then why was only the boy's face that was coming blurred for her then?
It was as if something was stopping her from recognizing him.
Who was he? Did she know him?
As the question rose in her unconscious self, she stood staring at her young self who was happily out to click the pictures.
"This one has come nice," the little girl said, "but it's not perfect. Can we click another?" As she asked, the little Arwen blinked her eyes as if coaxing the guy to agree to her.
The guy didn't agree straightforwardly. Arwen couldn't tell his expression, but she could see him staring at little Arwen as if taking his time and considering her request.
"Ide, I know you don't like taking pictures," the little girl spoke again, her fingers already tugging on the boy's sleeves gently. "But since you have already agreed to take one. We can add a few more and make it perfect, right? Can we, please?"
Arwen was stunned for a moment. She didn't know how she should react to this.
Was this really her?
She never remembered behaving like this with anyone. Although she was young, still coaxing someone like this just to take pictures wasn't just like her. If someone didn't want to do something, she wouldn't force them. After all, she was never so close with anyone to demand something.
Then who was this guy?
And why was she acting so differently with him? It was like she was too comfortable, not caring at all that the boy might think she was clingy and bothersome.
After all, since she was young, all she had tried to avoid was being clingy and bothersome to someone. Her mother has always asked her to be more understanding and mature so that people don't dislike her and she upholds the grace of a young lady of the Quin family.
Then how come she has forgotten it all around this young boy?
Who was he?
He can't be a stranger, given how comfortable she is around him.
And he can't also be someone she could forget losing contact …
Then does that mean that she knew him?
If she knew, then why couldn't she remember him?
Why couldn't she recognize his face?
What was making it so difficult?
While she was still struggling with all those questions, she heard the little girl at the front tugging on the boy's sleeves more fervently.
"Ide! Ide! Please. A few more pictures, can we, pleasee!!" The little girl tried more, but soon her expectant expression fell when she saw the boy shaking his head in disagreement.
Feeling displeased, she looked away from him and muttered in a tone that was barely audible. "Since when did you start rejecting me? Did you promise me to agree to all my demands? Why are you not agreeing to something so simple as clicking the picture now?"
"Because I won't click pictures like this with just anyone?" the boy spoke, proving her this reason.
But not understanding what he meant, the girl pursed her lips and looked up at him with furrowed brows. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"I will only click pictures with a girl who agrees to stay with me and just me … forever. I can't let my future girlfriend be jealous of anyone," he said, adding slowly. "So, if you want to click more pictures with me, you have to first make a promise to me."
Arwen, who has been watching all this like a reel from the past, was taken aback for a moment.
What does this mean?
It wasn't like she didn't understand it. It was just that it felt unbelievable.
Was this really something that she had come across?
When did it happen?
㒮䠢㵢 㘒㝯䚊㧱䣹 䣹䚊㘒 䑂㴉䄄䲓㵢㰅 䄄㴉 䠢㵢䲓 䂔㝯䲓 䄄 㼴㝯㼴㵢㧱㴉 㡨㵢䂔㝯䲓㵢 䂔䆦㧱䄄䡒䡒㘒 䑂䄄㘒䆦㧱䣹㓟 "䀀䲓㝯㼴䆦䑂㵢 㴉㝯 㡨㵢 㼴㘒 䣹䆦䲓䡒䂔䲓䆦㵢㧱㰅 㧱㝯㣶 䄄㧱㰅 㣶䆦䂔㵢 䡒䄄㴉㵢䲓䡚"
"㫷䆦䲓䡒䂔䲓䆦㵢㧱㰅䯸 䠜䆦䂔㵢䯸 䠜䠢䄄㴉 㰅㝯㵢䑂 㴉䠢䄄㴉 䠢䄄㿿㵢 㴉㝯 㰅㝯 㣶䆦㴉䠢 㴉䄄䬩䆦㧱䣹 䄄 䓡䆦㝏㴉䚊䲓㵢䯸" 㒮䠢㵢 䡒䆦㴉㴉䡒㵢 䣹䆦䲓䡒 㴉䆦㴉䡒㵢㰅 䠢㵢䲓 䠢㵢䄄㰅㓟 䠢㵢䲓 䂔䄄㝏㵢 䂔䆦䡒䡒㵢㰅 㣶䆦㴉䠢 䆦㧱㧱㝯㝏㵢㧱㴉 㝏㝯㧱䂔䚊䑂䆦㝯㧱䡚
䒰㵢㵢䆦㧱䣹 㴉䠢㵢 䣹䆦䲓䡒 㡨䡒䆦㧱䬩 䄄㴉 䠢䆦㼴 䆦㧱 㰅㵢㵢䓡 㴉䠢㝯䚊䣹䠢㴉㓟 䠢㵢 䑂䠢㝯㝯䬩 䠢䆦䑂 䠢㵢䄄㰅 䄄㧱㰅 㝏㝯㧱㴉䆦㧱䚊㵢㰅㓟 "'䁛㴉'䑂 㧱㝯㴉䡚 㒮䠢䄄㴉'䑂 㣶䠢㘒 䆦䂔 䁛 㴉䄄䬩㵢 䄄 䓡䆦㝏㴉䚊䲓㵢 㣶䆦㴉䠢 䄄 䣹䆦䲓䡒㓟 䑂䠢㵢 䠢䄄䑂 㴉㝯 㡨㵢 㼴㘒 䣹䆦䲓䡒䂔䲓䆦㵢㧱㰅 䄄㧱㰅㓟 䆦㧱 㴉䠢㵢 䂔䚊㴉䚊䲓㵢㓟 㼴㘒 㣶䆦䂔㵢䡚 㒮䠢䄄㴉 㣶䄄㘒㓟 䑂䠢㵢 㣶㝯㧱'㴉 䂔㵢㵢䡒 䁂㵢䄄䡒㝯䚊䑂 㝯䂔 䄄㧱㘒㝯㧱㵢 㵢䡒䑂㵢 䡒䄄㴉㵢䲓䡚"
㒮䠢㵢 䣹䆦䲓䡒 䓡䄄䚊䑂㵢㰅 䄄㴉 䠢䆦䑂 㣶㝯䲓㰅䑂㓟 䠢㵢䲓 䑂㼴䄄䡒䡒 䂔䄄㝏㵢 䑂㝏䲓䚊㧱㝏䠢㵢㰅 䆦㧱 㴉䠢㝯䚊䣹䠢㴉㓟 䄄䑂 䆦䂔 䑂䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂 㴉䲓䚊䡒㘒 㝏㝯㧱䑂䆦㰅㵢䲓䆦㧱䣹 䠢䆦䑂 䲓㵢䄄䑂㝯㧱䆦㧱䣹䡚
㒮䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂 㧱㝯 䂔䡒䄄㣶 䆦㧱 㴉䠢㵢 㡨㝯㘒'䑂 䡒㝯䣹䆦㝏䡚 㯇䆦䑂 䲓㵢䄄䑂㝯㧱䆦㧱䣹 㣶䄄䑂 㝏䡒㵢䄄䲓㓟 䓡㵢䲓䠢䄄䓡䑂 㵢㿿㵢㧱 㴉㝯㝯 㼴䄄㴉䚊䲓㵢 䂔㝯䲓 䠢䆦䑂 䄄䣹㵢䡚
䂸䚊㴉 䑂㝯㼴㵢㴉䠢䆦㧱䣹 䄄㡨㝯䚊㴉 䆦㴉 䂔㵢䡒㴉 㰅㵢䡒䆦㡨㵢䲓䄄㴉㵢㓟 䄄䑂 䆦䂔 䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂㧱'㴉 䁂䚊䑂㴉 㴉䄄䡒䬩䆦㧱䣹 䄄㡨㝯䚊㴉 䄄 䓡䆦㝏㴉䚊䲓㵢 … 㡨䚊㴉 䲓䄄㴉䠢㵢䲓㓟 䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂 㼴䄄䬩䆦㧱䣹 䄄 㝏㝯㧱䂔㵢䑂䑂䆦㝯㧱䡚 㞾 㰅㵢㝏䡒䄄䲓䄄㴉䆦㝯㧱 㝯䂔 䠢䆦䑂 䆦㧱㴉㵢㧱㴉䆦㝯㧱䑂䡚
䠜䄄䑂 䆦㴉 䠢䄄䓡䓡㵢㧱䆦㧱䣹 䲓㵢䄄䡒 㝯䲓 䆦䂔 䆦㴉 㣶䄄䑂 䁂䚊䑂㴉 䑂㝯㼴㵢 㝯䂔 䠢㵢䲓 䆦㼴䄄䣹䆦㧱䄄㴉䆦㝯㧱 —䑂䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂㧱'㴉 䑂䚊䲓㵢䡚
䂸䚊㴉 䄄㴉 㴉䠢㵢 㼴㝯㼴㵢㧱㴉 䑂䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂㧱'㴉 㴉㝯 䬩㧱㝯㣶 㴉䠢㵢 䣹䆦䲓䡒 㝏㝯䚊䡒㰅㧱'㴉 䓡㝯䑂䑂䆦㡨䡒㘒 䄄䣹䲓㵢㵢 㴉㝯 䠢䆦㼴䯸
䪩㝯㵢䑂㧱'㴉 䆦㴉 㼴㵢䄄㧱 䆦㴉 㣶䄄䑂 䠢㵢䲓䯸
㞾㧱㰅 䆦䂔 䆦㴉 㣶䄄䑂 䠢㵢䲓㓟 㴉䠢㵢㧱 䑂䠢㵢 㝏㝯䚊䡒㰅㧱'㴉 䓡㝯䑂䑂䆦㡨䡒㵢 䄄䣹䲓㵢㵢 …
"䒰㝯 㰅㝯 㘒㝯䚊 䓡䲓㝯㼴䆦䑂㵢 㼴㵢䯸"
㯇㵢䲓 䣹䄄㨴㵢 㴉䚊䲓㧱㵢㰅 㴉㝯㣶䄄䲓㰅䑂 䠢㵢䲓 㘒㝯䚊㧱䣹㵢䲓 䑂㵢䡒䂔㓟 㣶䄄䆦㴉䆦㧱䣹 䂔㝯䲓 䠢㵢䲓 㴉㝯 䲓㵢䓡䡒㘒䡚
"㖂䠢㼴䳣䠢㼴㓟" 㴉䠢㵢 㘒㝯䚊㧱䣹 㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 䠢䚊㼴㼴㵢㰅䡚 "䌭㝯㣶 㝏䄄㧱 㣶㵢 㴉䄄䬩㵢 㼴㝯䲓㵢 㝯䂔 㴉䠢㵢 䓡䆦㝏㴉䚊䲓㵢䑂䯸"
㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 䂔䲓㝯㨴㵢䡚
㞾㧱㰅 … 㣶䠢㝯 㣶䄄䑂 㴉䠢㵢 㡨㝯㘒䯸
䂸㵢䂔㝯䲓㵢 䑂䠢㵢 㝏㝯䚊䡒㰅 䂔㝯㝏䚊䑂 㝯㧱 䠢䆦㼴㓟 䑂䠢㵢 䑂䄄㣶 䠢㵢䲓 㘒㝯䚊㧱䣹㵢䲓 䑂㵢䡒䂔 䑂䚊㰅㰅㵢㧱䡒㘒 䣹䲓䄄㡨 䠢䆦䑂 䠢䄄㧱㰅㓟 䓡䚊䡒䡒䆦㧱䣹 䠢䆦㼴 䄄䡒㝯㧱䣹 㵢䗵㝏䆦㴉㵢㰅䡒㘒䡚
䠜䆦㴉䠢 㴉䠢䄄㴉㓟 䑂䠢㵢 䲓䄄㧱 䄄䠢㵢䄄㰅㓟 䣹䆦䣹䣹䡒䆦㧱䣹䡚
䂸㵢䠢䆦㧱㰅 䠢㵢䲓 㴉䠢㵢 㡨㝯㘒 㝏䄄䡒䡒㵢㰅 㝯䚊㴉㓟 䠢䆦䑂 㿿㝯䆦㝏㵢 䡒䄄㝏㵢㰅 㣶䆦㴉䠢 㝏㝯㧱㝏㵢䲓㧱䡚
㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱'䑂 㵢㘒㵢䑂 㣶䆦㰅㵢㧱㵢㰅䡚
㖂㝯㝯㧱䯸䗄
㯇㝯㣶 㣶䄄䑂 㴉䠢䄄㴉 䓡㝯䑂䑂䆦㡨䡒㵢䯸
䠜䠢㘒 㣶㝯䚊䡒㰅 䠢㵢 㝏䄄䡒䡒 䠢㵢䲓 㴉䠢䄄㴉䯸
㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱'䑂 㵢㘒㵢䑂 䑂㧱䄄䓡䓡㵢㰅 㝯䓡㵢㧱㓟 䠢㵢䲓 䠢㵢䄄䲓㴉 䓡㝯䚊㧱㰅䆦㧱䣹 䆦㧱 䠢㵢䲓 㝏䠢㵢䑂㴉䡚 䒰䠢㵢 䑂㴉䄄䲓㵢㰅 䄄㴉 㴉䠢㵢 㝏㵢䆦䡒䆦㧱䣹㓟 䠢㵢䲓 㼴䆦㧱㰅 䑂㴉䆦䡒䡒 䲓㵢㵢䡒䆦㧱䣹 䂔䲓㝯㼴 㴉䠢㵢 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴䡚
㖂㝯㝯㧱䡚
䠜䠢㘒䯸
"䠜㵢㧱㧱䄄䗄 㞾䲓㵢 㘒㝯䚊 㝯䬩䄄㘒䯸"
䓕䲓㝯㣶㧱䆦㧱䣹 䑂䡒䆦䣹䠢㴉䡒㘒㓟 㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 䓡䚊䑂䠢㵢㰅 䠢㵢䲓䑂㵢䡒䂔 䆦㧱㴉㝯 䄄 䑂䆦㴉㴉䆦㧱䣹 䓡㝯䑂䆦㴉䆦㝯㧱䡚 䠜䠢䄄㴉'䑂 㣶䲓㝯㧱䣹䯸 䠜䠢㘒 䄄䲓㵢 㘒㝯䚊 䡒㝯㝯䬩䆦㧱䣹 䄄㴉 㼴㵢 䡒䆦䬩㵢 㴉䠢䄄㴉䯸"
㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄 䑂䆦䣹䠢㵢㰅 䄄㧱㰅 䠢䄄㧱㰅㵢㰅 䠢㵢䲓 䄄 䣹䡒䄄䑂䑂 㝯䂔 㣶䄄㴉㵢䲓䡚 "䑠㝯䚊 㣶㵢䲓㵢 㴉䄄䡒䬩䆦㧱䣹 䆦㧱 㘒㝯䚊䲓 䑂䡒㵢㵢䓡䡚 䁛 㣶䄄䑂 䁂䚊䑂㴉 䲓㵢䄄㰅䆦㧱䣹㓟 䄄㧱㰅 㘒㝯䚊 䄄䡒㼴㝯䑂㴉 䑂㝏䄄䲓㵢㰅 㼴㵢䡚"
㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱'䑂 䣹䄄㨴㵢 䂔䡒䆦㝏䬩㵢䲓㵢㰅 䄄䲓㝯䚊㧱㰅 㴉䠢㵢 䲓㝯㝯㼴㓟 㴉䄄䬩䆦㧱䣹 䆦㧱 䠢㵢䲓 䑂䚊䲓䲓㝯䚊㧱㰅䆦㧱䣹䑂䡚 䒰䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂 䑂㴉䆦䡒䡒 䆦㧱 㡨㵢㰅䡚 䒰㴉䆦䡒䡒 䆦㧱 䠢㵢䲓 䲓㝯㝯㼴䡚
䁛㴉 䠢䄄㰅 㡨㵢㵢㧱 䄄 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴䡚
䠜䄄䑂 䆦㴉 䄄 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴 … 㝯䲓 䄄 㼴㵢㼴㝯䲓㘒䡚
䂸䚊㴉 䆦䂔 䆦㴉 㣶䄄䑂㓟 㣶䠢㘒 㰅䆦㰅 䑂䠢㵢 䠢䄄㿿㵢 㧱㝯 䲓㵢㼴㵢㼴㡨䲓䄄㧱㝏㵢 㝯䂔 䆦㴉 㧱㝯㣶䯸
䒰䠢㵢 㰅䆦㰅㧱'㴉 㴉䠢䆦㧱䬩 䑂㝯 …
䪩㝯㵢䑂㧱'㴉 䑂䠢㵢 䲓㵢㼴㵢㼴㡨㵢䲓 㵢㿿㵢䲓㘒㴉䠢䆦㧱䣹 䄄䡒䲓㵢䄄㰅㘒䯸
䂸䚊㴉 䆦䂔 䑂䠢㵢 㰅䆦㰅㧱'㴉㓟 㣶䠢䄄㴉 㵢䗵䄄㝏㴉䡒㘒 䠢䄄䑂 䑂䠢㵢 䑂㵢㵢㧱䯸
㞾㧱㰅 㼴㝯䲓㵢 䆦㼴䓡㝯䲓㴉䄄㧱㴉䡒㘒 —㣶䠢㝯 㣶䄄䑂 㴉䠢䄄㴉 㡨㝯㘒䯸
㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 䠢㵢䑂䆦㴉䄄㴉㵢㰅䡚
䠜䄄䑂 䆦㴉 䄄 㧱䆦䣹䠢㴉㼴䄄䲓㵢䯸
䁛㧱䑂㴉㵢䄄㰅 … 䆦㴉 䂔㵢䡒㴉 㣶䄄䲓㼴䡚
䣌䆦䣹䠢㴉䡚
"㞾 㼴㝯㼴㵢㧱㴉 㣶㝯䲓㴉䠢 㝏䠢㵢䲓䆦䑂䠢䆦㧱䣹䯸" 㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄 䄄䑂䬩㵢㰅㓟 䡒㝯㝯䬩䆦㧱䣹 㝏㝯㧱䂔䚊䑂㵢㰅 䄄㴉 䠢㵢䲓 㣶㝯䲓㰅䑂䡚
䂸䚊㴉 㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 㣶䄄䑂 㴉㝯㝯 䡒㝯䑂㴉 䆦㧱 䠢㵢䲓 㝯㣶㧱 㴉䠢㝯䚊䣹䠢㴉䑂 㴉䠢䄄㴉 䑂䠢㵢 㰅䆦㰅㧱'㴉 䑂㵢㵢 㴉䠢㵢 㝏㝯㧱䂔䚊䑂䆦㝯㧱 㝯㧱 㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄'䑂 䂔䄄㝏㵢䡚 䌭㝯㰅㰅䆦㧱䣹 䑂䆦㼴䓡䡒㘒㓟 䑂䠢㵢 䄄㧱䑂㣶㵢䲓㵢㰅䡚 "䑠㵢䑂㓟 䆦㴉 㣶䄄䑂㧱'㴉 䄄 㧱䆦䣹䠢㴉㼴䄄䲓㵢䡚 䁛 㣶䄄䑂㧱'㴉 䄄䂔䲓䄄䆦㰅 䄄㴉 䄄䡒䡒䡚"
㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 㴉䚊䲓㧱㵢㰅 㴉㝯 䠢㵢䲓䜨 䠢㵢䲓 㵢㘒㵢䑂 㴉䠢㝯䚊䣹䠢㴉䂔䚊䡒䡚 "㞾 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴䯸"
㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄 䑂䆦䣹䠢㵢㰅㓟 䲓䚊㡨㡨䆦㧱䣹 䠢㵢䲓 䂔㝯䲓㵢䠢㵢䄄㰅䡚 "䠜㵢㧱㧱䄄㓟 㣶䠢䄄㴉'䑂 㣶䆦㴉䠢 㘒㝯䚊 㴉㝯㧱䆦䣹䠢㴉䯸 䆠䂔 㝏㝯䚊䲓䑂㵢㓟 䆦㴉'䑂 䄄 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴䗄 䁛䂔 䆦㴉 㰅䆦㰅㧱'㴉 䑂㝏䄄䲓㵢 㘒㝯䚊 䄄㴉 䄄䡒䡒… 䆦䂔 䆦㴉'䑂 㧱㝯㴉 䄄 㧱䆦䣹䠢㴉㼴䄄䲓㵢㓟 㴉䠢㵢㧱 䆦㴉 䠢䄄䑂 䆦㴉 㡨㵢 䄄 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴䡚" 䒰䠢㵢 䣹㵢䑂㴉䚊䲓㵢㰅 㣶䆦㴉䠢 䠢㵢䲓 䂔䆦㧱䣹㵢䲓䑂㓟 䂔㝯䲓㼴䆦㧱䣹 㝏䲓㝯䑂䑂䡚 "䌭䆦䣹䠢㴉㼴䄄䲓㵢䑂 䄄㧱㰅 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴䑂 䄄䲓㵢 㝯䓡䓡㝯䑂䆦㴉㵢䑂䡚 䒰㝯㓟 䆦䂔㓟 䆦㴉'䑂 㧱㝯㴉 㝯㧱㵢㓟 䆦㴉'䑂 㴉䠢㵢 㝯㴉䠢㵢䲓㓟 䲓䆦䣹䠢㴉䯸"
䂸䚊㴉 㴉㝯㧱䆦䣹䠢㴉 …
㒮㝯㧱䆦䣹䠢㴉㓟 䑂䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂㧱'㴉 䑂㝯 䑂䚊䲓㵢䡚
䁛㴉 䂔㵢䡒㴉 䡒䆦䬩㵢 䄄 㼴㵢㼴㝯䲓㘒䡚
䂸䚊㴉 㴉䠢䄄㴉 㰅䆦㰅㧱'㴉 㼴䄄䬩㵢 䑂㵢㧱䑂㵢䡚
"䠜㵢㧱㧱䄄㓟 㣶䠢䄄㴉'䑂 㣶䲓㝯㧱䣹䯸" 㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄 㴉䚊䣹䣹㵢㰅 䣹㵢㧱㴉䡒㘒 䄄㴉 㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱'䑂 䄄䲓㼴䡚 "䠜䠢㘒 㰅㝯 㘒㝯䚊 䡒㝯㝯䬩 䡒䆦䬩㵢 㘒㝯䚊 䠢䄄㿿㵢 䑂㴉䚊㼴㡨䡒㵢㰅 䚊䓡㝯㧱 䄄 䣹䲓㵢䄄㴉 㼴㘒䑂㴉㵢䲓㘒 㴉䠢䄄㴉 㼴䚊䑂㴉 㡨㵢 䑂㝯䡒㿿㵢㰅䯸" 䒰䠢㵢 䂔䲓㝯㣶㧱㵢㰅䡚 "'䠜䠢䄄㴉 䆦䑂 䆦㴉䯸 㒮㵢䡒䡒 㼴㵢䡚"
㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 䠢㵢䑂䆦㴉䄄㴉㵢㰅䡚 䒰䠢㵢 㣶䄄㧱㴉㵢㰅 㴉㝯 㴉䄄䡒䬩 䄄㡨㝯䚊㴉 䆦㴉䡚 㒮㝯 㴉㵢䡒䡒 䑂㝯㼴㵢㝯㧱㵢 —㴉㝯 㼴䄄䬩㵢 䑂㵢㧱䑂㵢 㝯䂔 䆦㴉䡚 䂸䚊㴉 䠢㝯㣶 㝏㝯䚊䡒㰅 䑂䠢㵢 㵢䗵䓡䡒䄄䆦㧱 䑂㝯㼴㵢㴉䠢䆦㧱䣹 䑂䠢㵢 㰅䆦㰅㧱'㴉 㵢㿿㵢㧱 䚊㧱㰅㵢䲓䑂㴉䄄㧱㰅 䠢㵢䲓䑂㵢䡒䂔䯸
㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄 㣶䄄䑂 䄄㡨㝯䚊㴉 㴉㝯 䄄䑂䬩 䄄䣹䄄䆦㧱㓟 㡨䚊㴉 㡨㵢䂔㝯䲓㵢 䑂䠢㵢 㝏㝯䚊䡒㰅㓟 㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 䑂䠢㝯㝯䬩 䠢㵢䲓 䠢㵢䄄㰅䡚 䒰䠢㵢 䓡䡒䄄㝏㵢㰅 䠢㵢䲓 䠢䄄㧱㰅 㝯㿿㵢䲓 㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄㓟 䣹䆦㿿䆦㧱䣹 䠢㵢䲓 䄄 䲓㵢䄄䑂䑂䚊䲓䆦㧱䣹 䑂䮪䚊㵢㵢㨴㵢䡚
"䁛㴉'䑂 㧱㝯㴉䠢䆦㧱䣹㓟" 䑂䠢㵢 䑂䄄䆦㰅䡚 "䁛㴉 㼴䚊䑂㴉 䲓㵢䄄䡒䡒㘒 㡨㵢 䁂䚊䑂㴉 䄄 㰅䲓㵢䄄㼴䡚 䁛㴉 䂔㵢䡒㴉 䑂㝯 䲓㵢䄄䡒 㴉䠢䄄㴉 䁛 㝏㝯䚊䡒㰅㧱'㴉 䑂㴉㝯䓡 㴉䠢䆦㧱䬩䆦㧱䣹 䄄㡨㝯䚊㴉 䆦㴉㓟 㡨䚊㴉 …䆦㴉'䑂 㧱㝯㴉䠢䆦㧱䣹 䆦㼴䓡㝯䲓㴉䄄㧱㴉䡚"
"䆠䠢㓟 䡒㝯㝯䬩 䄄㴉 㴉䠢㵢 㴉䆦㼴㵢㓟" 㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 䮪䚊䆦㝏䬩䡒㘒 䣹䡒䄄㧱㝏㵢㰅 䄄㴉 㴉䠢㵢 㝏䡒㝯㝏䬩䡚 "䁛㴉'䑂 䓡䄄䑂㴉 㼴䆦㰅㧱䆦䣹䠢㴉䡚 䠜䠢㘒 䄄䲓㵢 㘒㝯䚊 䑂㴉䆦䡒䡒 䚊䓡䯸" 䑂䠢㵢 㴉㝯㝯䬩 㴉䠢㵢 㡨㝯㝯䬩 䂔䲓㝯㼴 㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄'䑂 䡒䄄䓡 䄄㧱㰅 䓡䡒䄄㝏㵢㰅 䆦㴉 㝯㧱 㴉䠢㵢 䑂䆦㰅㵢 㴉䄄㡨䡒㵢䡚 "㦀㵢䄄㰅 㴉䠢㵢 䲓㵢䑂㴉 㴉㝯㼴㝯䲓䲓㝯㣶䡚 䓕㝯䲓 㧱㝯㣶㓟 䑂䡒㵢㵢䓡䡚"
㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄 䂔䲓㝯㣶㧱㵢㰅㓟 䑂㴉䆦䡒䡒 䚊㧱㝏㝯㧱㿿䆦㧱㝏㵢㰅䡚
䒰䠢㵢 㼴㝯㴉䆦㝯㧱㵢㰅 㴉㝯㣶䄄䲓㰅䑂 㴉䠢㵢 㡨㵢㰅䑂䆦㰅㵢 䡒䄄䓡䡚 "㒮䚊䲓㧱 㝯䂔䂔 㴉䠢㵢 䡒䆦䣹䠢㴉 䄄㧱㰅 䣹㝯 㴉㝯 䑂䡒㵢㵢䓡䡚 䪩㝯㧱'㴉 䁂䚊䑂㴉 䑂䆦㴉 㴉䠢㵢䲓㵢 䑂㴉䄄䲓䆦㧱䣹 䄄㴉 㼴㵢䡚"
䠜䆦㴉䠢 㴉䠢䄄㴉 䑂䠢㵢 㰅䆦㰅㧱'㴉 㣶䄄䆦㴉 䂔㝯䲓 䂔䚊䲓㴉䠢㵢䲓 䓡䲓㝯㴉㵢䑂㴉䡚
㞾䂔㴉㵢䲓 䄄 㼴㝯㼴㵢㧱㴉㓟 㫷䆦䄄㧱㧱䄄 䑂䆦䣹䠢㵢㰅 䄄㧱㰅 㰅䆦㰅 㴉䠢㵢 䑂䄄㼴㵢㓟 䑂㣶䆦㴉㝏䠢䆦㧱䣹 㝯䂔䂔 㴉䠢㵢 䡒䆦䣹䠢㴉䡚
䒰䆦䡒㵢㧱㝏㵢 䑂㵢㴉㴉䡒㵢㰅 㝯㿿㵢䲓 㴉䠢㵢 䲓㝯㝯㼴䡚
㒮䠢㵢㧱 䑂䡒㝯㣶䡒㘒㓟 㞾䲓㣶㵢㧱 㝯䓡㵢㧱㵢㰅 䠢㵢䲓 㵢㘒㵢䑂㓟 䑂㴉䄄䲓䆦㧱䣹 䄄㴉 㴉䠢㵢 㝏㵢䆦䡒䆦㧱䣹䡚 㯇㵢䲓 㵢䗵䓡䲓㵢䑂䑂䆦㝯㧱 䚊㧱䲓㵢䄄㰅䄄㡨䡒㵢䡚 㯇㵢䲓 㴉䠢㝯䚊䣹䠢㴉䑂㓟 䠢㝯㣶㵢㿿㵢䲓㓟 㣶㵢䲓㵢 䄄㧱㘒㴉䠢䆦㧱䣹 㡨䚊㴉 㝏䄄䡒㼴䡚
䠜䠢㝯 㣶䄄䑂 㴉䠢䄄㴉 㡨㝯㘒䯸
㞾䆦㰅㵢㧱 㝏䄄䡒䡒䑂 䠢㵢䲓 㴉䠢䄄㴉㓟 㡨䚊㴉 㡨㵢䂔㝯䲓㵢 䠢䆦㼴㓟 䑂䠢㵢 㧱㵢㿿㵢䲓 䲓㵢㼴㵢㼴㡨㵢䲓䑂 䄄㧱㘒㝯㧱㵢 㝏䄄䡒䡒䆦㧱䣹 䠢㵢䲓 㴉䠢䄄㴉䡚
䌭㝯 㝯㧱㵢㓟 㡨䚊㴉 䠢䆦㼴 …
䂸䚊㴉 㴉䠢㵢㧱㓟 䆦䂔 䠢㵢 㣶䄄䑂㧱'㴉 㴉䠢䄄㴉 㡨㝯㘒㓟 㴉䠢㵢㧱 㣶䠢㝯 㵢䡒䑂㵢 㝏㝯䚊䡒㰅 㝏䄄䡒䡒 䠢㵢䲓 㖂㝯㝯㧱䯸
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