Novel Bin
Chapter 815: HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME?!
Chapter 815: HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME?!
While Aether was busy with his so-called date, meanwhile, back in the Pyra Empire…
"Hmmm…"
Aqualina groaned softly, feeling an ache in her head as her consciousness slowly returned. Her eyelids fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was an unfamiliar ceiling. Her brows furrowed as a deep frown formed on her face. The last thing she remembered was talking to Victor before—her eyes darkened—someone had knocked her out.
"Fucker…" she muttered under her breath, her annoyance clear as she pushed herself up.
Just as she was about to fully get up, her gaze landed on something—someone—that made her freeze for a moment.
"Mom?"
Her voice came out in a mix of confusion and disbelief as she stared at the woman sitting on a chair, smiling warmly at her.
It was Sandra... Her mother!
"How is my sleepyhead?" Sandra asked gently, her voice soft with affection.
Aqualina's eyes widened before she immediately jumped into her mother's arms, hugging her tightly as if she feared she would disappear, "I-I missed you, Mom… I reaaallllyyy missed you so much," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she buried her face in Sandra's embrace, inhaling the familiar scent she had longed for.
Sandra chuckled warmly, running her fingers through Aqualina's hair before wrapping her arms around her daughter protectively. Her gaze shifted slightly toward Celestia, who stood quietly in the corner, observing them without a word.
After a few moments of holding onto each other, Aqualina finally pulled back, her expression quickly shifting from relief to concern. Her brows knit together as she looked at her mother more carefully.
"Mom, are you alright? Did they hurt you?" Her eyes flickered with worry before darting around the unfamiliar place. "And… where the hell are we?" she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion as she tried to piece together what had happened.
Sandra let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. "Well… about that…" she hesitated before sighing. "We were imprisoned in the Pyra Empire."
Aqualina blinked. Surprisingly, she didn't react with shock. Instead, her expression remained eerily calm, as if she had already expected something like this. But then, her lips curled downward in irritation.
"I can't believe that bastard actually kidnapped me… right in front of the Principal," she muttered, her voice laced with disbelief. Her expression darkened as her mind raced, "And the Principal… what the hell was she doing? Just standing there, watching?!" Her voice grew harsher, her frustration evident as her trust in the Principal wavered.
Sandra coughed weakly before nodding, "Anyway—"
Before she could continue, Aqualina cut in with a serious expression. "Mom, getting out of the Empire isn't an easy task. Dragons here are annoyingly loyal to their Emperor, and they won't just let us waltz out the front door." Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh as she started thinking. "For now, we should stay put and observe… but don't worry, I already have a plan to escape." A small smirk tugged at her lips as she thought of a certain someone. 'I just need to call Aether…'
Sandra tilted her head slightly, watching her daughter. Then, after a moment, she asked, "Aqualina… aren't you going to ask why we were imprisoned in the first place?"
Aqualina barely hesitated before shaking her head. "No, I don't need to. Whatever you did… I believe you had a good reason. You're not reckless, and you don't make stupid mistakes. I trust you, Mom."
Sandra's breath hitched slightly at those words, her lips trembling as emotion washed over her. Without thinking, she pulled Aqualina back into another hug, holding her even tighter than before.
"You…" she whispered, her voice full of emotion.
But despite the touching moment, she couldn't let Aqualina act recklessly here, so she finally spoke, "You see… I was the one who told Victor to bring you back."
"H-Huh?"
Aqualina blinked, her expression shifting into confusion. "Wait… you're saying… you actually told that bastard to bring me here?"
Sandra took a deep breath, nodding. "Yes… I did. We're in a very dangerous situation right now, and staying here is actually the best option for us."
Aqualina narrowed her eyes, analyzing her mother's expression carefully... Then, after a second, she sighed, "That makes sense now…" she murmured.
"That's why even the Principal didn't do anything to stop Victor… ah." She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. "Fine. I get it. But I still have one question—why here? And…" her eyes darkened, "Victor isn't someone who does things out of kindness. What does he want from you?"
Sandra smiled, her expression unreadable. "Nothing."
Aqualina scoffed, not buying it for a second. "Nothing? Yeah, right. That's total bull— ahem, I mean, there's no way that's true." She folded her arms. "I know he wouldn't just help you out of the goodness of his heart. He must want something in return. But whatever, I'll just confirm it myself." She straightened up, determination flashing in her eyes. "I'll contact Aether telepathically. Since they were friends, he should be able to help us out."
Sandra weakly chuckled. "There's no need for that… Wait!" But then her eyes widened slightly as something dawned on her. "You can communicate with him too?"
"Too?" Aqualina's brows shot up, her mind immediately catching onto something. "Wait… what do you mean 'too'?" Her frown deepened as she stared at her mother, a sinking feeling growing inside her.
Sandra coughed, realizing she might have let something slip. It wasn't like she had it, but— 'Come to think of it… my daughter doesn't know about that jerk's audacity…' She suddenly grinned, as if a few plans were already forming in her mind. "You see, he is—"
However—
"So you have it too… ah," Aqualina murmured, her expression turning gloomy as if she had just figured out something far worse than she had expected.
"Huh? What are you—"
"There's no need to hide it anymore… I knew it. I knew this was going to happen…" Aqualina muttered in a dejected tone, shaking her head.
Sandra flinched slightly, a flicker of panic appearing in her eyes. 'D-Does she know I know about her? Did Aether tell her something?' Her heart pounded for a moment as her face turned pale.
But then she took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. 'Yeah… I can't hide it anymore. She must have remembered everything by now…'
Sandra knew that trying to cover things up would only make it more painful later. And besides, she needed Aqualina to have every right to know what was going on around her!
So she finally decided to come clean—well, except for the deal and the whole gods' business.
"You are my mother—what?"
"You are in love with Aether—what?"
They spoke at the same time, their words clashing in perfect unison before they both froze.
An eerie silence filled the room as their eyes widened in horror, staring at each other.
"You knew?"
"You knew?"
"..."
"..."
"Pfff!!"
Celestia, who had been silently watching the entire time, finally lost it. She almost burst out laughing, barely able to contain herself as she covered her mouth. Their reactions were so identical, so synchronized—it was like watching a carbon copy of the same person. And yet, even she was shocked by what Sandra had just revealed.
Meanwhile, back in the Naiadae Empire…
Tuck, Tuck…
The rhythmic sound of the carriage wheels rolling over the stone-paved road filled the quiet air inside. The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the world outside in a warm glow, casting long shadows over the city.
Inside the carriage, Aether and Xara sat across from each other, both eerily silent, their thoughts lost in the same words...
'Already in my hands…'
The Prophetess's words echoed in their minds.
'What did she mean by that? That he is the answer I've been searching for?' Xara frowned, her fingers absentmindedly tapping against the window frame. She gazed outside, watching the shifting landscape, but her focus repeatedly drifted back to Aether, who sat deep in thought. His brows were furrowed, his fingers tightening slightly, as though trying to grasp something invisible in his palm.
"So… what exactly did she say to you?" Xara finally asked, unable to hold back her curiosity any longer.
Aether snapped out of his thoughts, his lips curling into an amused smirk as he looked at her. "Someone's awfully curious about OUR future life together, huh?" he teased, his voice laced with mischief.
Xara's lips twitched in irritation. 'Tsk.' She clicked her tongue, immediately looking away, crossing her arms in a huff.
Aether let out a soft chuckle before finally answering. "She said… it was all in my hands."
Xara raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. Instead, she leaned back against her seat, letting his words settle in her mind.
Aether, on the other hand, turned his gaze toward the passing scenery. His mind replayed the Prophetess's cryptic message, trying to decipher its true meaning.
'So… she meant to say my second option is the right one? That's what she was hinting at?' His first choice had been to seek out the Prophetess for process, yet it seemed like his second option had already aligned with fate. But still… something about it didn't sit right with him.
Just then, as the carriage continued its steady pace, a particular sight made Aether freeze.
A strange tree swayed gently...
'Isn't that… the same one that appeared in my Empire?' His frown deepened, his pulse quickening slightly. 'So, it's growing here too? But why? What does this mean?'
More questions flooded his mind, but the answers?
Fuck up!
Before he could dwell on it further, the carriage slowed, finally arriving at their destination—the Frostblade Mansion.
As they stepped out, Xara, who had been absentmindedly gripping Aether's coat, rubbed the fabric between her fingers before casually asking, "So… where's this surprise you promised me?"
Aether grinned. "Surprise? Oh, so you actually care about it? How cute—"
"Tsk. Forget it," Xara huffed, turning away with an annoyed expression as if she had regretted asking in the first place.
Aether chuckled, shaking his head. "Come on now… the surprise I prepared is huge, you know? It's not something that can just be handed over in an instant. It'll take some time."
"I don't care," Xara replied dismissively, pretending to be uninterested, though a small flicker of curiosity lingered in her eyes.
"You will care," Aether said with a confident smirk. "Believe me, you'll love it." Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he pointed toward the towering mountain in the distance. "Though by the time you receive your surprise… I'll already be at the top."
Xara blinked, her gaze shifting toward the peak before looking back at him. "You will—"
Before she could finish her sentence—
"HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME?!!"
A furious, thunderous voice echoed through the air.
Aether and Xara both flinched at the sheer rage behind it. Their heads whipped around to see none other than.... Delphine.
㽋㯑㧇㟉䒗㟉㮉䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋 䳫㯑㰐 䋟㶆㾬㾬䰉 㶆㰐 㶆䲽䲽䰲䰲䰲
䍴㯑㰐 䒂㟉䑽㶆㩄㪋㟉 㯑䤰 㰐䋟㟉 㧇㯑㮉䮵䰲䰲䰲 䦇㶆䰉䒂㟉 㰐䋟㶆㰐 㰐㯑㯑䌸 䒂㩄㰐 䦇㯑㮉㟉 䛊䦇㾬㯑㮉㰐㶆䳫㰐䲽䰉—
㮼䋟㟉 㪋㰐䛊䲽䲽 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪䳫'㰐 㧇㮉㶆㾬 䋟㟉㮉 䋟㟉㶆㧪 㶆㮉㯑㩄䳫㧪 䛊㰐䰲
㽋㯑㧇 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪 㰐䋟䛊㪋 䋟㶆䒗㟉 䋟㶆㾬㾬㟉䳫㟉㧪䥐
䬊䋟㟉 䦇㯑䦇㟉䳫㰐 㪋䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 䋟㟉㶆㮉㧪 㰐䋟㟉 䳫㟉㧇㪋䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆䳫㰐㟉㧪 㰐㯑 㮉㩄㪋䋟 䒂㶆䑽䮵 䋟㯑䦇㟉 㶆㪋 㪋㯑㯑䳫 㶆㪋 㾬㯑㪋㪋䛊䒂䲽㟉䌸 䒂㩄㰐 䋟㟉㮉 㮉㟉㪋㾬㯑䳫㪋䛊䒂䛊䲽䛊㰐䛊㟉㪋 䋟㶆㧪 䋟㟉䲽㧪 䋟㟉㮉 䒂㶆䑽䮵䰲
䬊䋟㟉 㲒䦇㾬㮉㟉㪋㪋 䋟㶆㧪 䫀㯑䳫㟉 㪋㯑䦇㟉㧇䋟㟉㮉㟉 㩄䳫䮵䳫㯑㧇䳫䌸 䲽㟉㶆䒗䛊䳫䫀 㰐䋟㟉 㟉䳫㰐䛊㮉㟉 㲒䦇㾬䛊㮉㟉 䛊䳫 㶆 䤰㮉㶆䫀䛊䲽㟉 㪋㰐㶆㰐㟉䰲 㦚㪋 㯑䳫㟉 㯑䤰 㰐䋟㟉 䫀㟉䳫㟉㮉㶆䲽㪋䌸 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䋟㶆㧪 䳫㯑 䑽䋟㯑䛊䑽㟉 䒂㩄㰐 㰐㯑 㪋㰐㶆䰉 䒂㟉䋟䛊䳫㧪䌸 㧇㯑㮉䮵䛊䳫䫀 㰐䛊㮉㟉䲽㟉㪋㪋䲽䰉 㰐㯑 䦇㶆䛊䳫㰐㶆䛊䳫 㪋㰐㶆䒂䛊䲽䛊㰐䰉䰲
䍴㯑㧇䌸 䤰䛊䳫㶆䲽䲽䰉䌸 㶆䤰㰐㟉㮉 㧇䋟㶆㰐 䤰㟉䲽㰐 䲽䛊䮵㟉 䤰㯑㮉㟉䒗㟉㮉䌸 㪋䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 㶆 㪋䋟㯑㮉㰐 㧇䛊䳫㧪㯑㧇 㯑䤰 㮉㟉䲽䛊㟉䤰䰲 㦚䳫㧪 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋䳫'㰐 䫀㯑䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑 㧇㶆㪋㰐㟉 䛊㰐䰲
㮼䋟㟉 䳫㟉㟉㧪㟉㧪 㶆䳫㪋㧇㟉㮉㪋䅃
㦚㪋 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆䲽䮵㟉㧪 㰐䋟㮉㯑㩄䫀䋟 㰐䋟㟉 䑽㯑㮉㮉䛊㧪㯑㮉䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㪋㩄㧪㧪㟉䳫䲽䰉 䳫㯑㰐䛊䑽㟉㧪 㪋㯑䦇㟉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀 㩄䳫㩄㪋㩄㶆䲽䰲 㦚䲽䤰㮉㟉㧪 㶆䳫㧪 䬊䛊䦇䦇䰉 㧇㟉㮉㟉 䮵䳫㟉㟉䲽䛊䳫䫀 㯑䳫 㰐䋟㟉 䫀㮉㯑㩄䳫㧪䌸 㰐䋟㟉䛊㮉 㟉䫹㾬㮉㟉㪋㪋䛊㯑䳫㪋 䫀㮉䛊䦇䰲
㮼䋟㟉 䳫㶆㮉㮉㯑㧇㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䰉㟉㪋䰲 "㽋䦇䦇䥐 㒼䋟㶆㰐'㪋 䫀㯑䛊䳫䫀 㯑䳫 䋟㟉㮉㟉䥐 㒼䋟䰉 㶆㮉㟉 䰉㯑㩄 㰐㧇㯑 䮵䳫㟉㟉䲽䛊䳫䫀䥐" 㪋䋟㟉 㶆㪋䮵㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 䑽㶆㮉㮉䰉䛊䳫䫀 㶆 㪋䋟㶆㮉㾬 㟉㧪䫀㟉䰲
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 䤰㮉㯑㧇䳫 㧪㟉㟉㾬㟉䳫㟉㧪䰲 㮼䋟㟉 䲽㟉㰐 㯑㩄㰐 㶆䳫 㶆䳫䳫㯑䰉㟉㧪 㪋䛊䫀䋟 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 㪋䋟㮉㩄䫀䫀䛊䳫䫀䰲 㒼䋟㶆㰐㟉䒗㟉㮉 䛊㰐 㧇㶆㪋䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㧪䛊㧪䳫'㰐 䋟㶆䒗㟉 㰐䛊䦇㟉 㰐㯑 㧪㟉㶆䲽 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㰐䋟㟉㪋㟉 㾬㟉㯑㾬䲽㟉 㮉䛊䫀䋟㰐 䳫㯑㧇䰲 㒼䛊㰐䋟㯑㩄㰐 㶆䳫㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉 䫀䲽㶆䳫䑽㟉䌸 㪋䋟㟉 䑽㯑䳫㰐䛊䳫㩄㟉㧪 㧇㶆䲽䮵䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑㧇㶆㮉㧪 㟁㟉䲽䑽'㪋 㯑䤰䤰䛊䑽㟉䰲
䬊䋟㟉 䦇㯑䦇㟉䳫㰐 㪋䋟㟉 㪋㰐㟉㾬㾬㟉㧪 䛊䳫䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㧪䛊㧪䳫'㰐 䒂㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㾬䲽㟉㶆㪋㶆䳫㰐㮉䛊㟉㪋䰲 "㒼䋟㟉㮉㟉 䛊㪋 㮼䛊㪋㰐㟉㮉䥬䛊䳫䥬䲽㶆㧇䥐" 㪋䋟㟉 㧪㟉䦇㶆䳫㧪㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 䲽㶆䑽㟉㧪 㧇䛊㰐䋟 䛊㮉㮉䛊㰐㶆㰐䛊㯑䳫䰲
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䑽䲽㟉䳫䑽䋟㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 䔭㶆㧇䰲 "㮼䋟㟉 㰐㯑㯑䮵 㦚㟉㰐䋟㟉㮉 㶆㪋 䋟㟉㮉 㪋㯑䳫䥐 㹦㪋 㰐䋟㶆㰐 㰐㮉㩄㟉䥐"
㟁㟉䲽䑽 㟉䫹䋟㶆䲽㟉㧪 㪋䲽㯑㧇䲽䰉 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 㮉㟉㪋㾬㯑䳫㧪䛊䳫䫀䌸 "䬊䋟㶆㰐 㧇㶆㪋 䋟㟉㮉 㧪㟉䑽䛊㪋䛊㯑䳫䰲 㹦 䋟㶆䒗㟉 䳫㯑㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑 㧪㯑 㧇䛊㰐䋟 䛊㰐䰲" 㽋䛊㪋 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 㧇㶆㪋 㧪㟉䒗㯑䛊㧪 㯑䤰 㶆䳫䰉 㟉䦇㯑㰐䛊㯑䳫 㶆㪋 䛊䤰 䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 㶆䲽㮉㟉㶆㧪䰉 㮉㟉㪋䛊䫀䳫㟉㧪 䋟䛊䦇㪋㟉䲽䤰 㰐㯑 㧇䋟㶆㰐㟉䒗㟉㮉 䑽䋟㶆㯑㪋 㧇㶆㪋 䋟㶆㾬㾬㟉䳫䛊䳫䫀䰲
㟁㟉䲽䑽䌸 䋟㯑㧇㟉䒗㟉㮉䌸 㧇㶆㪋䳫'㰐 㟉䒗㟉䳫 㾬㶆䰉䛊䳫䫀 㶆㰐㰐㟉䳫㰐䛊㯑䳫 㰐㯑 䋟㟉㮉 㶆䳫䰉䦇㯑㮉㟉䰲 㽋䛊㪋 䦇䛊䳫㧪 㧇㶆㪋 㯑䑽䑽㩄㾬䛊㟉㧪 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㪋㯑䦇㟉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀 䤰㶆㮉 䦇㯑㮉㟉 㾬㮉㟉㪋㪋䛊䳫䫀䰲 㽋㟉 䋟㶆㧪 㶆䲽㮉㟉㶆㧪䰉 㪋㩄䤰䤰㟉㮉㟉㧪 㟉䳫㯑㩄䫀䋟䰲 㐰䛊㮉㪋㰐䌸 䋟䛊㪋 㧇䛊䤰㟉 䋟㶆㧪 㪋䲽㶆㾬㾬㟉㧪 䋟䛊䦇 䛊䳫 䤰㮉㯑䳫㰐 㯑䤰 㰐䋟㟉䛊㮉 䑽䋟䛊䲽㧪㮉㟉䳫䌸 㶆䳫㧪 㰐䋟㟉䳫 㪋㯑䦇㟉 䤰䛊䲽㰐䋟䰉 䒂㶆㪋㰐㶆㮉㧪 䋟㶆㧪 㰐䋟㟉 㶆㩄㧪㶆䑽䛊㰐䰉 㰐㯑 㰐䋟㮉㯑㧇 㪋䋟䛊㰐 㶆㰐 䋟䛊䦇䰲
㽋㟉 䋟㶆㧪 㮉㟉㶆䑽䋟㟉㧪 㶆 㾬㯑䛊䳫㰐 㧇䋟㟉㮉㟉 䋟㟉 㪋䛊䦇㾬䲽䰉 㧪䛊㧪䳫'㰐 䑽㶆㮉㟉 㶆䳫䰉䦇㯑㮉㟉䰲
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 㪋䑽㯑䤰䤰㟉㧪䰲 "䬊㪋䮵䌸 㩄㪋㟉䲽㟉㪋㪋䌸" 㪋䋟㟉 䦇㩄㰐㰐㟉㮉㟉㧪 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 㰐㩄㮉䳫䛊䳫䫀 㯑䳫 䋟㟉㮉 䋟㟉㟉䲽㪋 㶆䳫㧪 㪋㰐㯑㮉䦇䛊䳫䫀 㯑㩄㰐 㯑䤰 㰐䋟㟉 㮉㯑㯑䦇䰲 㹦䤰 㟁㟉䲽䑽 㧇㶆㪋䳫'㰐 䫀㯑䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑 䒂㟉 㯑䤰 㶆䳫䰉 䋟㟉䲽㾬䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㯑㩄䲽㧪 䤰䛊䳫㧪 㦚㟉㰐䋟㟉㮉 䋟㟉㮉㪋㟉䲽䤰䰲
䵿㟉㰐䌸 㶆䤰㰐㟉㮉 㪋㟉㶆㮉䑽䋟䛊䳫䫀 㰐䋟㟉 㟉䳫㰐䛊㮉㟉 䋟㯑㩄㪋㟉䌸 㪋䋟㟉 䤰㯑㩄䳫㧪 䳫㯑 㪋䛊䫀䳫 㯑䤰 䋟䛊䦇䰲 㽋㟉㮉 䤰㮉㩄㪋㰐㮉㶆㰐䛊㯑䳫 㯑䳫䲽䰉 䫀㮉㟉㧇䰲 "㒼䋟㟉㮉㟉 䛊㪋 䋟㟉䥐 㒼䋟㶆㰐 䛊㪋 䫀㯑䛊䳫䫀 㯑䳫 䋟㟉㮉㟉䥐" 㪋䋟㟉 䦇㩄㮉䦇㩄㮉㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䫹㾬㮉㟉㪋㪋䛊㯑䳫 㧪㶆㮉䮵㟉䳫䛊䳫䫀 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㧇㯑㮉㮉䰉䰲
䬊䋟㟉 䰉㯑㩄䳫䫀㟉㮉 䫀䛊㮉䲽 㧇㶆㪋 䑽㶆䲽䦇䲽䰉 㪋䛊㾬㾬䛊䳫䫀 㰐㟉㶆䌸 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䫹㾬㮉㟉㪋㪋䛊㯑䳫 㪋㟉㮉㟉䳫㟉䌸 㶆䲽䦇㯑㪋㰐 㩄䳫䳫㶆㰐㩄㮉㶆䲽䲽䰉 㪋㯑䰲 㹦㰐 㧇㶆㪋 㶆㪋 䛊䤰 㪋䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 㶆䑽䋟䛊㟉䒗㟉㧪 㪋㯑䦇㟉 䮵䛊䳫㧪 㯑䤰 㟉䳫䲽䛊䫀䋟㰐㟉䳫䦇㟉䳫㰐䰲
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 䒂㮉㯑㧇㪋 䤰㩄㮉㮉㯑㧇㟉㧪䰲 "㒼䋟㶆㰐 䋟㶆㾬㾬㟉䳫㟉㧪 㰐㯑 䋟㟉㮉䥐" 㪋䋟㟉 䦇㩄㰐㰐㟉㮉㟉㧪 㰐㯑 䋟㟉㮉㪋㟉䲽䤰 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 䦇㶆䮵䛊䳫䫀 䋟㟉㮉 㧇㶆䰉 㯑䒗㟉㮉䰲
䶴㟉㶆䳫㧇䋟䛊䲽㟉䌸 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 㪋㶆㰐 䑽㯑䦇㾬䲽㟉㰐㟉䲽䰉 㪋㰐䛊䲽䲽䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䦇䛊䳫㧪 㧇㶆䳫㧪㟉㮉䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑 㧪㶆䳫䫀㟉㮉㯑㩄㪋 㾬䲽㶆䑽㟉㪋䰲
㮼䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋 㮉㟉䤰䲽㟉䑽㰐䛊䳫䫀 㯑䳫 䋟㟉㮉 䲽䛊䤰㟉䌸 㯑䳫 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䫹䛊㪋㰐㟉䳫䑽㟉䰲䰲䰲 㪋㟉㶆㮉䑽䋟䛊䳫䫀 䤰㯑㮉 䦇㟉㶆䳫䛊䳫䫀䰲䰲䰲
㦚䳫㧪 㰐䋟㟉䳫䌸 䲽䛊䮵㟉 㶆 㪋䲽㶆㾬 㰐㯑 㰐䋟㟉 䤰㶆䑽㟉䌸 㮉㟉㶆䲽䛊㰐䰉 䋟䛊㰐 䋟㟉㮉䰲
'㹦 䔭㩄㪋㰐 䋟㯑㯑䮵㟉㧪 㩄㾬 䦇䰉 䦇㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉 㧇䛊㰐䋟 䦇䰉 䋟㩄㪋䒂㶆䳫㧪䌸 㧪䛊㧪䳫'㰐 㹦䥐'
'㹦䳫䳫㟉㮉 㾬㟉㶆䑽㟉䰲䰲䰲 㹦䳫䳫㟉㮉 㾬㟉㶆䑽㟉䰲䰲䰲'
㮼䋟㟉 㮉㟉㶆䑽䋟䛊䳫䫀 㶆䫀㶆䛊䳫 㟉䳫䲽䛊䫀䋟㰐㟉䳫䦇㟉䳫㰐䅃
"㮼㟉䲽䌸 䋟㶆䒗㟉 䰉㯑㩄 㪋㟉㟉䳫 䰉㯑㩄㮉 䦇㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉䥐"
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 䑽㩄㰐 㰐䋟㮉㯑㩄䫀䋟 䋟㟉㮉 㰐㮉㶆䳫䑽㟉䌸 䦇㶆䮵䛊䳫䫀 䋟㟉㮉 䒂䲽䛊䳫䮵䰲 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䲽㯑㯑䮵㟉㧪 㩄㾬 㶆㰐 䋟㟉㮉䌸 䦇䛊䲽㧪䲽䰉 㧪㶆䨌㟉㧪䰲
㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䋟㩄䦇䦇㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䤰䛊䳫䫀㟉㮉㪋 䲽䛊䫀䋟㰐䲽䰉 㰐㶆㾬㾬䛊䳫䫀 㰐䋟㟉 㟉㧪䫀㟉 㯑䤰 䋟㟉㮉 㰐㟉㶆䑽㩄㾬䌸 "䶴䰉 䦇㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉䰲䰲䰲 㹦'䦇 䳫㯑㰐 㪋㩄㮉㟉 㶆䒂㯑㩄㰐 㰐䋟㶆㰐䰲䰲䰲" 㪋䋟㟉 䦇㩄㰐㰐㟉㮉㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 㧪䛊㪋㰐㶆䳫㰐䰲
䬊䋟㟉 䦇㟉㮉㟉 䦇㟉䳫㰐䛊㯑䳫 㯑䤰 䋟㟉㮉 䦇㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉 㪋㟉䳫㰐 䋟㟉㮉 㪋㾬䛊㮉㶆䲽䲽䛊䳫䫀 㶆䫀㶆䛊䳫䰲
㽋㟉㮉 㟉䳫㰐䛊㮉㟉 㧇㯑㮉䲽㧪 㧇㶆㪋 䑽㯑䲽䲽㶆㾬㪋䛊䳫䫀 㶆㮉㯑㩄䳫㧪 䋟㟉㮉䌸 㶆䳫㧪 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋䳫'㰐 㪋㩄㮉㟉 䋟㯑㧇 㰐㯑 䋟㶆䳫㧪䲽㟉 䛊㰐䰲
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 䤰㮉㯑㧇䳫 㧪㟉㟉㾬㟉䳫㟉㧪䰲 "㒼䋟㶆㰐 㰐䋟㟉 䋟㟉䲽䲽 䋟㶆㾬㾬㟉䳫㟉㧪 㰐㯑 䰉㯑㩄䥐" 㪋䋟㟉 䦇㩄㮉䦇㩄㮉㟉㧪 㩄䳫㧪㟉㮉 䋟㟉㮉 䒂㮉㟉㶆㰐䋟 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 㪋䋟㶆䮵䛊䳫䫀 䋟㟉㮉 䋟㟉㶆㧪䰲
㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䲽㟉㰐 㯑㩄㰐 㶆 㧪㮉䰉 䑽䋟㩄䑽䮵䲽㟉䰲 "䰳㯑 䰉㯑㩄 㮉㟉㶆䲽䲽䰉 㰐䋟䛊䳫䮵 㹦 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪 㯑㾬㾬㯑㪋㟉 䦇䰉 䦇㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉䥐" 㪋䋟㟉 㶆㪋䮵㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䫹㾬㮉㟉㪋㪋䛊㯑䳫 㯑䳫㟉 㯑䤰 㾬㩄㮉㟉 㧪㟉䤰㟉㶆㰐䰲
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䑽䲽䛊䑽䮵㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 㰐㯑䳫䫀㩄㟉䰲 "㹦 䫀㟉㰐 㰐䋟㶆㰐 䛊㰐'㪋 㧪䛊䤰䤰䛊䑽㩄䲽㰐䌸 䒂㩄㰐 㪋㰐䛊䲽䲽䌸 䰉㯑㩄 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪'䒗㟉 㶆㰐 䲽㟉㶆㪋㰐 㰐㮉䛊㟉㧪 䰉㯑㩄㮉 䒂㟉㪋㰐 㩄䳫㰐䛊䲽 㹦 䫀㯑㰐 䋟㟉㮉㟉䌸 㮉䛊䫀䋟㰐䥐"
䬊䋟䛊㪋 䔭㩄㪋㰐 㶆㧪㧪㟉㧪 䤰㩄㟉䲽 㰐㯑 㰐䋟㟉 䤰䛊㮉㟉䌸 䦇㶆䮵䛊䳫䫀 䋟㟉㮉 䤰㟉㟉䲽 㟉䒗㟉䳫 䦇㯑㮉㟉 㾬㯑㧇㟉㮉䲽㟉㪋㪋䰲
'㮼㰐䛊䲽䲽䰲䰲䰲 㹦 㧇䛊䲽䲽 㰐㶆䮵㟉 䋟䛊䦇 䒂㶆䑽䮵䰲䰲䰲 㹦 㧇䛊䲽䲽䰲䰲䰲'
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 㪋㰐㩄㧪䛊㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 䤰㯑㮉 㶆 䦇㯑䦇㟉䳫㰐 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 䳫㯑㧪㧪䛊䳫䫀䰲 '㐪㯑㯑䮵㪋 䲽䛊䮵㟉 㹦 䳫㟉㟉㧪 㰐㯑 㰐㶆䲽䮵 㰐㯑 㮼䛊㪋㰐㟉㮉䥬䛊䳫䥬䲽㶆㧇 㧪䛊㮉㟉䑽㰐䲽䰉䰲䰲䰲' 㪋䋟㟉 㰐䋟㯑㩄䫀䋟㰐 㶆㪋 㪋䋟㟉 㰐㩄㮉䳫㟉㧪 㰐㯑 䲽㟉㶆䒗㟉䰲 㪅㩄㰐 䔭㩄㪋㰐 㶆㪋 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋 㶆䒂㯑㩄㰐 㰐㯑 㪋㰐㟉㾬 㶆㧇㶆䰉䌸 㪋㯑䦇㟉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀 䑽㮉㯑㪋㪋㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 䦇䛊䳫㧪䰲
"䵿㯑㩄䰲䰲䰲 㹦 䋟㟉㶆㮉㧪 䰉㯑㩄㮉 䤰㶆㰐䋟㟉㮉 䛊㪋 㶆㮉㮉㶆䳫䫀䛊䳫䫀 㶆 䦇㶆㮉㮉䛊㶆䫀㟉 䤰㯑㮉 䰉㯑㩄 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㟁䛊䑽㰐㯑㮉䥐" 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 㶆㪋䮵㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 㰐㯑䳫㟉 䋟㟉㪋䛊㰐㶆䳫㰐䌸 㶆䲽䦇㯑㪋㰐 䑽㶆㩄㰐䛊㯑㩄㪋䰲
䬊䋟㟉䳫䌸 㶆䤰㰐㟉㮉 㶆 䦇㯑䦇㟉䳫㰐 㯑䤰 㪋䛊䲽㟉䳫䑽㟉䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㪋䲽㯑㧇䲽䰉 䲽㯑㯑䮵㟉㧪 㩄㾬 㶆㰐 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉䌸 㶆䳫 㩄䳫㮉㟉㶆㧪㶆䒂䲽㟉 䫀䲽䛊䳫㰐 䛊䳫 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䰉㟉㪋䰲 㦚䳫㧪 㰐䋟㟉䳫—㪋䋟㟉 䫀㮉䛊䳫䳫㟉㧪䰲
"䵿㟉㪋䅃 䠭䤰 䑽㯑㩄㮉㪋㟉䅃 㒼㟉'㮉㟉 䫀㯑䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑 䫀㟉㰐 䦇㶆㮉㮉䛊㟉㧪~ 㶆䳫㧪 䋟㶆䒗㟉 䲽㯑㰐㪋 㶆䳫㧪 䲽㯑㰐㪋 㯑䤰 䑽䋟䛊䲽㧪㮉㟉䳫~ 䤰㩄~䤰㩄~" 㪋䋟㟉 㪋㶆䳫䫀 㪋㧇㟉㟉㰐䲽䰉䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 㧪㮉䛊㾬㾬䛊䳫䫀 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㶆䳫 㟉㟉㮉䛊㟉 㾬䲽㶆䰉䤰㩄䲽䳫㟉㪋㪋䰲
"㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉䰲䰲䰲 䰉㯑㩄 䳫㟉㟉㧪 㰐㯑 㰐䋟䛊䳫䮵 㰐䋟䛊㪋 㰐䋟㮉㯑㩄䫀䋟 䑽㶆㮉㟉䤰㩄䲽䲽䰉䰲 䵿㯑㩄'㮉㟉 㪋㰐䛊䲽䲽 䰉㯑㩄䳫䫀䰲 䵿㯑㩄 䋟㶆䒗㟉 㾬䲽㟉䳫㰐䰉 㯑䤰 㰐䛊䦇㟉 㰐㯑 䤰䛊䫀㩄㮉㟉 㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀㪋 㯑㩄㰐䰲 䰳㯑䳫'㰐 㮉㩄㪋䋟 䛊䳫㰐㯑 䦇㶆㮉㮉䛊㶆䫀㟉 䔭㩄㪋㰐 䒂㟉䑽㶆㩄㪋㟉 㪋㯑䦇㟉㯑䳫㟉 㟉䲽㪋㟉 䛊㪋 㾬㩄㪋䋟䛊䳫䫀 䰉㯑㩄 㰐㯑㧇㶆㮉㧪 䛊㰐䰲 㐪㯑㯑䮵 㶆㰐 䦇㟉—䤰㯑䑽㩄㪋 㯑䳫 䰉㯑㩄㮉 㶆䦇䒂䛊㰐䛊㯑䳫㪋 䤰䛊㮉㪋㰐䌸 㰐䋟㟉䳫 㧇㯑㮉㮉䰉 㶆䒂㯑㩄㰐 㟉䒗㟉㮉䰉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀 㟉䲽㪋㟉䰲 䠭䮵㶆䰉䥐" 㐪䛊䮵㟉 㶆 䫀㯑㯑㧪 㶆㩄䳫㰐䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㯑䤰䤰㟉㮉㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 㶆㧪䒗䛊䑽㟉䰲䰲䰲
䬊䋟㶆㰐'㪋 㧇䋟㶆㰐 㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉㪋 㰐䋟䛊䳫䮵䰲䰲䰲 㯑䳫䲽䰉 㦚㩄䳫㰐 䮵䳫㯑㧇 䋟㟉㮉 㰐㧇㯑 㧇䛊䑽䮵㟉㧪 㰐䋟㯑㩄䫀䋟㰐㪋~
㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 㪋䛊䫀䋟㟉㧪䌸 "㹦'䒗㟉 㶆䲽㮉㟉㶆㧪䰉 㰐䋟㯑㩄䫀䋟㰐 㰐䋟䛊㪋 㰐䋟㮉㯑㩄䫀䋟䌸 㦚㩄䳫㰐… 㶆䳫㧪 㹦 㰐㮉㩄䲽䰉 䒂㟉䲽䛊㟉䒗㟉 䋟㟉'㪋 㰐䋟㟉 㯑䳫㟉䰲
㪅㟉㪋䛊㧪㟉㪋䌸 䛊㰐'㪋 䳫㯑㰐 䲽䛊䮵㟉 㹦 㧇㯑䳫'㰐 䒂㟉 㶆䒂䲽㟉 㰐㯑 䤰㯑䑽㩄㪋 㯑䳫 䦇䰉 㶆䦇䒂䛊㰐䛊㯑䳫㪋 䔭㩄㪋㰐 䒂㟉䑽㶆㩄㪋㟉 㹦'䦇 䦇㶆㮉㮉䛊㟉㧪 㰐㯑 䋟䛊䦇䰲 㹦䤰 㶆䳫䰉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀䌸 䋟㟉 㶆䑽㰐㩄㶆䲽䲽䰉 㪋㩄㾬㾬㯑㮉㰐㪋 䦇㟉 䛊䳫 㧇䋟㶆㰐㟉䒗㟉㮉 㹦 䑽䋟㯑㯑㪋㟉 㰐㯑 㧪㯑䌸 㟉䒗㟉䳫 㶆䤰㰐㟉㮉 䦇㶆㮉㮉䛊㶆䫀㟉䌸" 㪋䋟㟉 㪋㰐㶆㰐㟉㧪 䑽㯑䳫䤰䛊㧪㟉䳫㰐䲽䰉䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 䑽㶆㮉㮉䰉䛊䳫䫀 㩄䳫㧇㶆䒗㟉㮉䛊䳫䫀 㧪㟉㰐㟉㮉䦇䛊䳫㶆㰐䛊㯑䳫䰲
'䬊㯑 䒂㟉 䋟㯑䳫㟉㪋㰐… 䦇䰉 㶆䦇䒂䛊㰐䛊㯑䳫 䛊㪋 㰐㯑 䦇㶆㮉㮉䰉 䋟䛊䦇 䤰䛊㮉㪋㰐䅃 㦚䳫㧪 㶆䤰㰐㟉㮉 㰐䋟㶆㰐䌸 㟉䒗㟉㮉䰉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀 㟉䲽㪋㟉 㧇䛊䲽䲽 䤰㶆䲽䲽 䛊䳫㰐㯑 㾬䲽㶆䑽㟉䅃'
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䳫㶆㮉㮉㯑㧇㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䰉㟉㪋 㶆㪋 㪋䋟㟉 䑽㶆㩄䫀䋟㰐 㪋䛊䫀䋟㰐 㯑䤰 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉'㪋 䑽䲽㟉䳫䑽䋟㟉㧪 䤰䛊㪋㰐㪋䌸 䳫㯑㰐䛊䑽䛊䳫䫀 䔭㩄㪋㰐 䋟㯑㧇 㰐䛊䫀䋟㰐䲽䰉 㰐䋟㟉䰉 㧇㟉㮉㟉 䒂㶆䲽䲽㟉㧪 㩄㾬䰲 㹦㰐 㧇㶆㪋 㶆㪋 䛊䤰 㰐䋟㟉 䫀䛊㮉䲽 㧇㶆㪋 㮉㟉㶆㧪䰉 㰐㯑 䤰䛊䫀䋟㰐 㰐䋟㟉 㟉䳫㰐䛊㮉㟉 㧇㯑㮉䲽㧪 䔭㩄㪋㰐 㰐㯑 䮵㟉㟉㾬 䋟䛊䦇 䒂䰉 䋟㟉㮉 㪋䛊㧪㟉䰲
"䵿㯑㩄 㧪㯑 㮉㟉㶆䲽䛊䨌㟉 㪋㯑䦇㟉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀䌸 㧪㯑䳫'㰐 䰉㯑㩄䥐" 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䒂㟉䫀㶆䳫䌸 䲽㟉㶆䳫䛊䳫䫀 㪋䲽䛊䫀䋟㰐䲽䰉 䤰㯑㮉㧇㶆㮉㧪 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㶆 䮵䳫㯑㧇䛊䳫䫀 㟉䫹㾬㮉㟉㪋㪋䛊㯑䳫䰲 "㽋㟉'㪋 㶆䳫 㲒䦇㾬㟉㮉㯑㮉䰲 㦚䳫㧪 䰉㯑㩄 䮵䳫㯑㧇 㧇䋟㶆㰐 㰐䋟㶆㰐 䦇㟉㶆䳫㪋䌸 㮉䛊䫀䋟㰐䥐 㦚䳫 㲒䦇㾬㟉㮉㯑㮉 䳫㟉䒗㟉㮉 䋟㶆㪋 䔭㩄㪋㰐 㯑䳫㟉 㧇䛊䤰㟉䰲 㒼䋟䛊䑽䋟 䦇㟉㶆䳫㪋… 䰉㯑㩄 㧇㯑㩄䲽㧪䳫'㰐 䒂㟉 㰐䋟㟉 㯑䳫䲽䰉 㧇㯑䦇—"
"䠭䤰 䑽㯑㩄㮉㪋㟉䌸" 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䛊䳫㰐㟉㮉㮉㩄㾬㰐㟉㧪䌸 䳫㯑㧪㧪䛊䳫䫀 㧇䛊㰐䋟 䑽㟉㮉㰐㶆䛊䳫㰐䰉 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪 㟉䒗㟉䳫 䤰䛊䳫䛊㪋䋟 䋟㟉㮉 㪋㟉䳫㰐㟉䳫䑽㟉䰲
㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䫀㮉䛊䳫䳫㟉㧪䌸 㰐䛊䲽㰐䛊䳫䫀 䋟㟉㮉 䋟㟉㶆㧪 㪋䲽䛊䫀䋟㰐䲽䰉䰲 "㹦 㶆䲽㮉㟉㶆㧪䰉 䮵䳫㟉㧇 㶆䲽䲽 㯑䤰 㰐䋟䛊㪋… 䬊䋟㶆㰐'㪋 㧇䋟䰉 㹦 㶆䫀㮉㟉㟉㧪 䛊䳫 㰐䋟㟉 䤰䛊㮉㪋㰐 㾬䲽㶆䑽㟉䰲 㹦 㧇㶆㪋 䤰㩄䲽䲽䰉 㶆㧇㶆㮉㟉 㯑䤰 㰐䋟㟉 䑽䛊㮉䑽㩄䦇㪋㰐㶆䳫䑽㟉㪋 䤰㮉㯑䦇 㰐䋟㟉 䒂㟉䫀䛊䳫䳫䛊䳫䫀䰲"
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䤰㟉䲽㰐 䋟㟉㮉 䒂㮉㶆䛊䳫 㪋䋟㯑㮉㰐䥬䑽䛊㮉䑽㩄䛊㰐 䤰㯑㮉 㶆 䦇㯑䦇㟉䳫㰐䰲 "㒼㶆䛊㰐… 㦚㮉㟉 䰉㯑㩄 㪋㟉㮉䛊㯑㩄㪋䥐 䵿㯑㩄'㮉㟉 㮉㟉㶆䲽䲽䰉 䤰䛊䳫㟉 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㰐䋟㶆㰐䥐 㦚㮉㟉䳫'㰐 䰉㯑㩄 㟉䒗㟉䳫 㶆 䲽䛊㰐㰐䲽㟉 㧇㯑㮉㮉䛊㟉㧪 㰐䋟㶆㰐 㶆䳫㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉 㧇㯑䦇㶆䳫 䦇䛊䫀䋟㰐 㰐㶆䮵㟉 䋟䛊䦇 㶆㧇㶆䰉 䤰㮉㯑䦇 䰉㯑㩄䥐" 㪋䋟㟉 㶆㪋䮵㟉㧪䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 㪋䲽䛊䫀䋟㰐䲽䰉 㩄䳫㪋㰐㟉㶆㧪䰉䌸 㩄䳫㶆䒂䲽㟉 㰐㯑 䒂㟉䲽䛊㟉䒗㟉 㧇䋟㶆㰐 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋 䋟㟉㶆㮉䛊䳫䫀䰲
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉 䑽䲽㟉䳫䑽䋟㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉 䔭㶆㧇䰲 㮼䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋 䫀㟉㰐㰐䛊䳫䫀 䤰㮉㩄㪋㰐㮉㶆㰐㟉㧪—䳫㯑䌸 䛊䳫䤰㩄㮉䛊㶆㰐㟉㧪 㶆䳫㧪 䤰㩄㮉䛊㯑㩄㪋䅃
㽋㯑㧇 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䳫㯑㰐 㪋㟉㟉 㰐䋟㟉 㮉㟉㶆䲽䛊㰐䰉 㯑䤰 㰐䋟㟉 㪋䛊㰐㩄㶆㰐䛊㯑䳫䥐 㽋㯑㧇 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪 㪋䋟㟉 䒂㟉 㪋㯑 䒂䲽䛊䳫㧪䥐
䶴㟉㶆䳫㧇䋟䛊䲽㟉䌸 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 㧇㶆㪋 䋟㶆䒗䛊䳫䫀 㶆 䑽㯑䦇㾬䲽㟉㰐㟉䲽䰉 㧪䛊䤰䤰㟉㮉㟉䳫㰐 䑽㮉䛊㪋䛊㪋 㯑䤰 䋟㟉㮉 㯑㧇䳫䰲
'㹦 䑽㶆䳫䳫㯑㰐 䤰㩄䑽䮵䛊䳫䫀 䒂㟉䲽䛊㟉䒗㟉 㰐䋟䛊㪋䅃 䬊䋟㶆㰐 㧪㶆䦇䳫 䲽㯑䫀 㶆䑽㰐㩄㶆䲽䲽䰉 䦇㶆㧪㟉 㦚㟉㰐䋟㟉㮉'㪋 䦇䛊㪋㪋䛊㯑䳫 㶆䒂㯑㩄㰐 㪋㟉㧪㩄䑽䛊䳫䫀 䳫㯑㰐 䔭㩄㪋㰐 䦇䰉 䦇㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉… 䒂㩄㰐 䳫㯑㧇 䦇䰉 㶆㩄䳫㰐 㰐㯑㯑䅃䥐'
㒼䋟㶆㰐 㰐䋟㟉 䋟㟉䲽䲽 㧇㶆㪋 㧇㮉㯑䳫䫀 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㰐䋟䛊㪋 䦇䛊㪋㪋䛊㯑䳫䅃䥐
㒼䋟㶆㰐 䳫㟉䫹㰐䥐 㒼㯑㩄䲽㧪 䛊㰐 㪋㩄㧪㧪㟉䳫䲽䰉 㧪㮉㯑㾬 㰐䋟㟉 㩄䲽㰐䛊䦇㶆㰐㟉 䒂㯑䦇䒂㪋䋟㟉䲽䲽—㰐㟉䲽䲽䛊䳫䫀 䋟㟉㮉 㰐䋟㶆㰐 䋟㟉㮉 䫀㮉㶆䳫㧪䦇㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉䌸 㧇䋟㯑 㟉䒗㟉㮉䰉㯑䳫㟉 㶆㪋㪋㩄䦇㟉㧪 㧇㶆㪋 䲽㯑䳫䫀 㧪㟉㶆㧪䌸 㧇㶆㪋 㶆䑽㰐㩄㶆䲽䲽䰉 㶆䲽䛊䒗㟉 㶆䲽䲽 㰐䋟䛊㪋 㰐䛊䦇㟉… 㶆䳫㧪 㰐䋟㶆㰐 㦚㟉㰐䋟㟉㮉 㧇㶆㪋 㪋㯑䦇㟉䋟㯑㧇 㪋㩄㾬㾬㯑㪋㟉㧪 㰐㯑 㪋㟉㧪㩄䑽㟉 䋟㟉㮉 㰐㯑㯑䅃䥐
'䍴㯑 㧇㶆䰉… 㹦 䦇㟉㶆䳫䌸 䑽㯑䦇㟉 㯑䳫䌸 㰐䋟㶆㰐 㧇㯑㩄䲽㧪 䳫㟉䒗㟉㮉 䋟㶆㾬㾬㟉䳫䰲 㹦'䒗㟉 㶆䲽㮉㟉㶆㧪䰉 㪋㟉㟉䳫 䋟㟉㮉䅃 㮼䋟㟉'㪋 㶆 㮉㟉㶆䲽䲽䰉 㯑䲽㧪 㧇㯑䦇㶆䳫䅃 㽋㟉䑽䮵䌸 㪋䋟㟉 䦇䛊䫀䋟㰐 㶆䑽㰐㩄㶆䲽䲽䰉 㧪䛊㟉 䛊䤰 䋟㟉 䮵䛊㪋㪋㟉㪋 䋟㟉㮉䅃䅃' 㪋䋟㟉 㪋䑽㮉㟉㶆䦇㟉㧪 䛊䳫㧇㶆㮉㧪䲽䰉䌸 㰐㮉䰉䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑 㾬㩄㪋䋟 㶆㧇㶆䰉 㰐䋟㟉 㮉䛊㧪䛊䑽㩄䲽㯑㩄㪋 㰐䋟㯑㩄䫀䋟㰐 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 䛊㰐 䑽㯑䳫㪋㩄䦇㟉㧪 䋟㟉㮉䰲
㪅㩄㰐 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 㪋䋟㟉 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪 䤰㩄䲽䲽䰉 㮉㟉䑽㯑䒗㟉㮉 䤰㮉㯑䦇 㰐䋟㶆㰐 䋟㯑㮉㮉䛊䤰䰉䛊䳫䫀 䦇㟉䳫㰐㶆䲽 䛊䦇㶆䫀㟉—
㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉'㪋 㟉䰉㟉 㰐㧇䛊㰐䑽䋟㟉㧪 㶆䫀㶆䛊䳫䌸 '㐪㯑㯑䮵 㶆㰐 䒂䛊㰐䑽䋟䰲䰲䰲 㰐㮉䰉䛊䳫䫀 䋟㟉㮉 䋟㶆㮉㧪 㰐㯑 䋟㯑䫀 䋟䛊䦇 㶆䲽䲽 㯑䤰 䋟㟉㮉 㪋㟉䲽䤰䰲䰲䰲 㐰㩄䑽䮵 䰉㯑㩄 䒂䛊㰐䑽䋟~ 䬊䋟㶆㰐'㪋 䳫㯑㰐 䫀㯑䛊䳫䫀 㰐㯑 䋟㶆㾬㾬㟉䳫~' 㪋䋟㟉 㪋䑽㮉㟉㶆䦇㟉㧪 䛊䳫㧇㶆㮉㧪䲽䰉 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉 㪋㶆䰉䛊䳫䫀䌸 㶆䲽䦇㯑㪋㰐 䛊㮉㮉䛊㰐㶆㰐㟉㧪 䲽㯑㯑䮵䌸
"㮼㰐㯑㾬 䛊㰐䌸 㦚㩄䳫㰐䰲 䵿㯑㩄'䒗㟉 䳫㟉䒗㟉㮉 䒂㟉㟉䳫 䛊䳫 䲽㯑䒗㟉 䒂㟉䤰㯑㮉㟉䌸 㪋㯑 㧇䋟䰉 㶆㮉㟉 䰉㯑㩄 㰐㶆䲽䮵䛊䳫䫀 䲽䛊䮵㟉—"
㦚 䲽㯑㩄㧪䌸 㪋㩄㧪㧪㟉䳫 㪋䲽㶆䦇 㟉䑽䋟㯑㟉㧪 㰐䋟㮉㯑㩄䫀䋟 㰐䋟㟉 㮉㯑㯑䦇 㶆㪋 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 㾬㶆䲽䦇 䑽㶆䦇㟉 䑽㮉㶆㪋䋟䛊䳫䫀 㧪㯑㧇䳫 㯑䳫㰐㯑 㰐䋟㟉 㰐㶆䒂䲽㟉䰲
㽋㟉㮉 㾬㶆㰐䛊㟉䳫䑽㟉 䋟㶆㧪 㯑䤰䤰䛊䑽䛊㶆䲽䲽䰉 㮉㩄䳫 㯑㩄㰐䅃䅃
㦚䳫㧪 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㰐䋟㶆㰐䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㪋㾬㩄䳫 㶆㮉㯑㩄䳫㧪 㶆䳫㧪 㪋㰐㯑㮉䦇㟉㧪 㯑䤰䤰䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䋟㟉㶆䒗䰉 䤰㯑㯑㰐㪋㰐㟉㾬㪋 㟉䑽䋟㯑䛊䳫䫀 䒂㟉䋟䛊䳫㧪 䋟㟉㮉䰲
㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 㮉㟉䦇㶆䛊䳫㟉㧪 㪋㟉㶆㰐㟉㧪䌸 㪋㰐㶆㮉䛊䳫䫀 㶆㰐 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 㮉㟉㰐㮉㟉㶆㰐䛊䳫䫀 䒂㶆䑽䮵 㧇䛊㰐䋟 㶆䳫 㶆䦇㩄㪋㟉㧪 䫀䲽䛊䳫㰐 䛊䳫 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䰉㟉㪋䌸 㩄䳫㶆䒂䲽㟉 㰐㯑 䋟㯑䲽㧪 䒂㶆䑽䮵 㰐䋟㟉 㪋䦇䛊㮉䮵 䑽㮉㟉㟉㾬䛊䳫䫀 㯑䳫㰐㯑 䋟㟉㮉 䲽䛊㾬㪋䰲
"㹦'䦇 䳫㯑㰐 㧪㟉䲽㩄㪋䛊㯑䳫㶆䲽䌸 㦚㩄䳫㰐… 㹦'䦇 䔭㩄㪋㰐 㪋㾬㟉㶆䮵䛊䳫䫀 㰐䋟㟉 㰐㮉㩄㰐䋟䌸" 㪋䋟㟉 䑽㶆䲽䲽㟉㧪 㯑㩄㰐䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 㪋䦇㯑㯑㰐䋟 㶆䳫㧪 㩄䳫㧇㶆䒗㟉㮉䛊䳫䫀䌸
"䬊䋟㟉 㮉㟉㶆䲽 㧪㟉䲽㩄㪋䛊㯑䳫 䛊㪋 㧇䋟㟉䳫 㶆 㧇㯑䦇㶆䳫 㰐䋟䛊䳫䮵㪋 㪋䋟㟉 䑽㶆䳫 䮵㟉㟉㾬 㶆 䫀㮉㟉㶆㰐 䦇㶆䳫 㶆䲽䲽 㰐㯑 䋟㟉㮉㪋㟉䲽䤰䰲 䬊䋟㶆㰐'㪋 㪋䛊䦇㾬䲽䰉 䳫㯑㰐 㾬㯑㪋㪋䛊䒂䲽㟉䌸 䳫㯑 䦇㶆㰐㰐㟉㮉 䋟㯑㧇 䦇㩄䑽䋟 㪋䋟㟉 㰐㮉䛊㟉㪋 㰐㯑 䑽㯑䳫㰐㮉㯑䲽 䋟䛊䦇䰲 㦚䳫㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉 㧇㯑䦇㶆䳫 㧇䛊䲽䲽 㶆䲽㧇㶆䰉㪋 㟉䳫㰐㟉㮉 䋟䛊㪋 䲽䛊䤰㟉䰲 㦚䳫㧪 䛊䤰 㰐䋟㶆㰐 㧇㯑䦇㶆䳫 䑽䲽䛊䳫䫀㪋 㰐㯑㯑 㰐䛊䫀䋟㰐䲽䰉—㰐㮉䛊㟉㪋 㰐㯑 䮵㟉㟉㾬 䋟䛊䦇 䑽䋟㶆䛊䳫㟉㧪 㧪㯑㧇䳫—㰐䋟㟉䳫䌸 㦚㩄䳫㰐… 䋟㟉 㧇䛊䲽䲽 䒂㟉㰐㮉㶆䰉 䋟㟉㮉 䒂㟉䋟䛊䳫㧪 䋟㟉㮉 䒂㶆䑽䮵䰲 㹦㰐'㪋 䛊䳫㟉䒗䛊㰐㶆䒂䲽㟉䰲
"㦚䳫㧪 㰐㮉㩄㪋㰐 䦇㟉… 䛊䤰 㰐䋟㟉㮉㟉 䛊㪋 㶆 㧇㯑䦇㶆䳫 䛊䳫 㟁䛊䑽㰐㯑㮉'㪋 䲽䛊䤰㟉 㧇䋟㯑 䤰㯑㯑䲽䛊㪋䋟䲽䰉 䒂㟉䲽䛊㟉䒗㟉㪋 㪋䋟㟉 䑽㶆䳫 䮵㟉㟉㾬 䋟䛊䦇 㶆䲽䲽 㰐㯑 䋟㟉㮉㪋㟉䲽䤰… 㽋㶆䋟㶆… 䛊㰐'䲽䲽 䒂㟉 㶆䲽䲽 㰐㯑㯑 㟉㶆㪋䰉 䤰㯑㮉 䦇㟉 㰐㯑 㰐㶆䮵㟉 䋟䛊䦇 䤰㮉㯑䦇 䋟㟉㮉䅃 㐰㯑㯑䲽䛊㪋䋟 䫀䛊㮉䲽~"
㽋㟉㮉 䒗㯑䛊䑽㟉 䫀㮉㟉㧇 㶆 䲽䛊㰐㰐䲽㟉 䲽㯑㩄㧪㟉㮉 㶆㰐 㰐䋟㟉 㟉䳫㧪䌸 㶆䲽䦇㯑㪋㰐 䲽䛊䮵㟉 㶆 䑽䋟㶆䲽䲽㟉䳫䫀㟉䌸 㶆㪋 䛊䤰 㧪㶆㮉䛊䳫䫀 㪋㯑䦇㟉㯑䳫㟉 㰐㯑 䑽㯑䳫㰐㮉㶆㧪䛊䑽㰐 䋟㟉㮉 㧇㯑㮉㧪㪋䰲
㮼㰐㶆䳫㧪䛊䳫䫀 䤰㮉㯑䨌㟉䳫 䤰㯑㮉 㶆 䦇㯑䦇㟉䳫㰐䌸 㪋䋟㟉 䒂䛊㰐 䋟㟉㮉 䲽㯑㧇㟉㮉 䲽䛊㾬 䤰㩄㮉䛊㯑㩄㪋䲽䰉䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䳫㶆䛊䲽㪋 㧪䛊䫀䫀䛊䳫䫀 䛊䳫㰐㯑 䋟㟉㮉 㾬㶆䲽䦇 㶆㪋 㪋䋟㟉 㾬㮉㯑䑽㟉㪋㪋㟉㧪 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉'㪋 㧇㯑㮉㧪㪋䰲
㒼䋟㶆㰐 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䋟㶆㧪 䔭㩄㪋㰐 㪋㶆䛊㧪… 㹦㰐 㧇㶆㪋 㮉䛊㧪䛊䑽㩄䲽㯑㩄㪋䰲 䠴㯑䦇㾬䲽㟉㰐㟉䲽䰉 㶆䒂㪋㩄㮉㧪䰲
㽋㟉㮉 䦇䛊䳫㧪 䛊䳫䒗㯑䲽㩄䳫㰐㶆㮉䛊䲽䰉 㧇㶆䳫㧪㟉㮉㟉㧪 䒂㶆䑽䮵 㰐㯑 㦚㟉㰐䋟㟉㮉䰲
䬊㯑 䋟㯑㧇 䦇㩄䑽䋟 䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 䑽䋟㶆䳫䫀㟉㧪䰲 㽋㯑㧇 䦇㩄䑽䋟 䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 䫀㮉㯑㧇䳫䰲
'㒼䋟㶆㰐 䛊䤰…䥐'
䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 䤰㶆䑽㟉 㾬㶆䲽㟉㧪 㪋䲽䛊䫀䋟㰐䲽䰉䌸 䋟㟉㮉 䒂㮉㟉㶆㰐䋟 䋟䛊㰐䑽䋟䛊䳫䫀 䤰㯑㮉 㶆 䒂㮉䛊㟉䤰 䦇㯑䦇㟉䳫㰐䰲 㒼䛊㰐䋟㯑㩄㰐 㶆䳫㯑㰐䋟㟉㮉 㧇㯑㮉㧪䌸 㪋䋟㟉 㰐㩄㮉䳫㟉㧪 㶆䳫㧪 㧇㶆䲽䮵㟉㧪 㶆㧇㶆䰉䌸 䋟㟉㮉 㰐䋟㯑㩄䫀䋟㰐㪋 䛊䳫 㰐㩄㮉䦇㯑䛊䲽䌸 㶆㪋 䛊䤰 㪋䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 䔭㩄㪋㰐 䫀䲽䛊䦇㾬㪋㟉㧪 㪋㯑䦇㟉㰐䋟䛊䳫䫀 㪋䋟㟉 㧇㶆㪋䳫'㰐 㮉㟉㶆㧪䰉 㰐㯑 㶆䑽䮵䳫㯑㧇䲽㟉㧪䫀㟉䰲
㹦䳫 㰐㮉㩄㰐䋟䌸 㧇䋟㶆㰐 㪋䋟㟉 䋟㶆㧪 䔭㩄㪋㰐 㪋㶆䛊㧪 㧇㶆㪋 䑽㯑䦇㾬䲽㟉㰐㟉 㶆䳫㧪 㩄㰐㰐㟉㮉 䳫㯑䳫㪋㟉䳫㪋㟉 㰐㯑 㪋㯑䦇㟉 㟉䫹㰐㟉䳫㰐䰲 㲒䒗㟉䳫 㪋䋟㟉 䮵䳫㟉㧇 㰐䋟㶆㰐䰲 㪅㩄㰐 㪋㟉㟉䛊䳫䫀 䰳㟉䲽㾬䋟䛊䳫㟉'㪋 㮉㟉㶆䑽㰐䛊㯑䳫… 㪋㟉㟉䛊䳫䫀 㰐䋟㟉 䑽㮉㶆䑽䮵㪋 䤰㯑㮉䦇䛊䳫䫀 䛊䳫 䋟㟉㮉 㩄㪋㩄㶆䲽䲽䰉 㩄䳫㪋䋟㶆䮵㶆䒂䲽㟉 㧪㟉䦇㟉㶆䳫㯑㮉… 㮼㟉䲽㟉䳫㟉 䑽㯑㩄䲽㧪䳫'㰐 䋟㟉䲽㾬 䋟㟉㮉㪋㟉䲽䤰䰲
"㽋㟉䋟㟉䋟㟉~"
㪅㩄㰐 㰐䋟㟉䳫—
㒼㶆䛊㰐䅃
㽋㟉㮉 㟉䳫㰐䛊㮉㟉 䒂㯑㧪䰉 㪋㰐䛊䤰䤰㟉䳫㟉㧪䌸 㶆䳫㧪 䋟㟉㮉 㟉䰉㟉㪋 㧇䛊㧪㟉䳫㟉㧪 䛊䳫 䋟㯑㮉㮉㯑㮉 㶆㪋 㰐䋟㟉 㮉㟉㶆䲽䛊䨌㶆㰐䛊㯑䳫 䋟䛊㰐 䋟㟉㮉 䲽䛊䮵㟉 㶆 㰐㯑䳫 㯑䤰 䒂㮉䛊䑽䮵㪋䰲
"㒼㶆䛊㰐… 䰳䛊㧪 㹦—㧪䛊㧪 㹦 䔭㩄㪋㰐 䋟㯑㯑䮵 㩄㾬 䦇䰉 㶆㩄䳫㰐 㧇䛊㰐䋟 䦇䰉 䋟㩄㪋䒂㶆䳫㧪䅃䥐"
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