Marena Ataahua, r&s Nz

Marena Ataahua, r&s Nz 🍀🍀🍀He Kaituhi Ahau, ka Tohatohahia e Taku Wharangi Nga Korero Rereke Me Nga Ataataâ˜˜ī¸â˜˜ī¸â˜˜ī¸

20/12/2022

đŸŒŋđŸŒŋ Assalamualaikum â˜˜ī¸â˜˜ī¸

â˜˜ī¸â˜˜ī¸Good Afternoonâ˜˜ī¸â˜˜ī¸ Everyone â˜˜ī¸â˜˜ī¸

18/12/2022

One of the biggest problems in our country is that the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. The main reason behind this is that those belonging to the poor classes are so engrossed in earning their livelihood to make their ends meet that they overlook the importance of seeking education. Instead of sending their kids to school, people from the poor classes send them to work as for them more working hands in the family means more income. As these kids grow they have no other choice but to indulge in menial tasks such as cleaning and sweeping due to lack of education and the trend continues.

In order to break this vicious circle, the government of India has come up with the concept of adult education. All those adults who could not seek education during their childhood and want to get educated later in life can enrol for the adult education program. As part of this program, both basic education as well as vocational training is imparted to empower the individuals to shape a better future. It is the sole choice of an individual as to what he wants to opt for.

Directorate of Adult Education initiated in India from the National Fundamental Education Centre (NFEC) established in the year 1956. Since then the government has continually been making efforts to promote adult education in the country. A number of schools including ones that offer night classes have been opened to provide adult education. Also various means and modes are being used by the government to emphasize the importance of seeking education and the efforts have not been futile. Several individuals have come forward to make the most of this opportunity and the number is on the rise. With this, the number of educational activities being offered has also seen a significant increase.

While many seek education to get good employment opportunities and earn their livelihood, a number of people especially women have come forward to seek adult education just to become more aware and help raise their children more efficiently. Apart from this, adult education also helps in the following way:

# Story Name: 💚Adult Education💚

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

17/12/2022

Science fiction as the name implies deals with certain scientific facts which are woven into the fabric of fiction. If the novelist is careful in depicting the scientific fact the fiction becomes really interesting. It is not necessary that he must be thorough in his facts but if he can make one believe that story is probable, then he has done a good job.

There had been several writers of such a kinds of science fiction. They are Jules Verne, H.G. Wells and others. 'Around the World in eighty Days' and 'A Trip to the Moon' by Jules Verne are very popular for what he prophesied have become true. It does take not eighty days but eighty hours or even much less today to go round the world, so with his trip to the moon. The launching site which Verne mentions in his book is almost very near Cape Kennedy and Verne's moon men landed on the Pacific on their return. Only the fact that Verve's men did not land on the moon though they went round the moon goes to prove that these writers have some knowledge of science.

The present moon trips have revived the interest in Verne. Many journals have praised the work of Jules Verne. It is a wonder how he could have been so correct in launching and getting back his moon men. The appeal is limited because it is merely of fictional value with a lot of imagination. The emotional value is wanting. One shall agree with this remark when one reads Verne's 'Around the World in Eighty Days' There is enough adventure and several scientific facts are utilized. All modes of transport known in those days are mentioned. Even the geographical fact that as one travels East the time is advanced is being deftly used at the end. We may race with the adventures but once the 'END' is reached there may not be any urge to take the book again unless there is a need for reviewing the fact. The human element of romance does not play a major part in such kinds of fiction.

H.G. Wells has written some famous science fictions, the most famous of them being. 'The Time Machine'. 'Frankenstein' is another science fiction and has been notorious for its evil that 'Frankenstein' has become almost an idiom for evil and cruelty. It is, in short, the story of a doctor, (scientist?) who wanted to create a man of his own choice. He believed he had found out the way for it. But a mistake committed by his assistant changes the course of the experiment. Instead of creating a superman, the experiment ends in the birth of a demon Frankenstein who revels in murderous aspects. Finally he tries to kill the scientist himself but the demon was burnt by people. It is a horror picture with a moral; it was a parody on science's claims.

A similar story we see in Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde'. It may be taken as a big allegory where evil when allowed to grow, kills the good. Again this story has given the idiom 'Dr. Jekyll' and 'Mr. Hyde' to the English Language.

Whatever may be their merit, those stories or fictions are not for ordinary man who cannot follow scientific implication.

# Story Name: â˜˜ī¸Discuss the appeal of a science fictionâ˜˜ī¸

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

16/12/2022

With the fast growth of civilization there is also an ever mounting need for energy. Energy may be in the form of fuels or electricity. The world appears to have reactivated energy to a liquid fuel like petrol. This is likely to be exhausted in the course of a few years at the rate man is using it. Electricity depends on oil or water resources and when oil goes, water resources cannot keep up with the demand. Everybody is caught up with the problem of conservation of energy.

To meet the challenge various methods have been suggested. One Is to suppress the demand. Rationing has to be brought in by means of legislation so that non-essential consumption may be brought to the minimum. In fact this is being done when the power supply becomes chronically short. There can be a power cut. During certain hours of the day the power supply can shut down, thus power is saved or conserved for better use. Energy conservation is possible through modernization of plant and equipment. In fact where obsolete equipment is in use it can be replaced by modem, energy saving ones. Energy can he saved at domestic level by better house keeping. Modern gadgets consuming energy should he used only when they are absolutely necessary. Luxury items like the television, radio and record player can be used sparingly. Wasteful usage of lights can be avoided. Meaningless illumination must be given up. In industries through adopting quality control measures, energy can be saved. It is also possible by reorganizing and streamlining systems through structural changes as in modernizing equipment. For example by adopting a better design in electrical motors, efficiency can be improved.

Energy can be saved on transport by the following methods. People should commute by the rail rather than by cars and vans. Animal drawn vehicles may be encouraged for very short distances. This is being done in countries where there is a village economy and animals like bullocks are not scarce. The transport system must be improved with a view to sparing the energy. Cities must be planned in such a way that the commuting distance is minimized.

In industry many things could be done to reduce waste of energy or to economize energy. The maintenance may be tightened; waste heat must be utilized properly. If systems arc streamlined, economy in fuel could be obtained. Instead of using materials requiring higher energy, those which require lower energy can be used. By effecting minor changes in the existing plants, economy in energy could be achieved.

Energy question is a major global problem and is drawing the attention of all. But we can hope man with his ever rising urge for existence will cope up with this major and the most urgent problem and find alternatives.

# Story Name: 🍀How to avoid waste of energy🍀

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

15/12/2022

Teaching can without any doubts be called the leading power of the society’s development. It is well known that there exist three main factors that influence the development of the personality. They are: heredity, social encirclement and education. Usually the term education is used meaning the great impact that parent have on the future personality of their child. But this also includes school education, because nowadays, when parents are very busy they are the people, who teach children what is beautiful and what is ugly, what is right and what is wrong. Through them children learn to perceive the inner world. And the way they perceive it depends on the teacher’s personal particularities that are transmitted to children through interaction and the knowledge that the teacher offers them. A good teacher is a person who finds individual approach to every pupil, taking care about the child’s adaptation in class, increasing one’s social status in class and making sure the children learn to take into account and respect the thoughts of other people.

Therefore there is much more to a teacher than high professionalism. What makes kids hardly wait until the lesson starts in one cases and hating the subject in others? Of course high professionalism in the field of the taught subject is very important, but when it comes to being a bad or a good teacher this is not the weightiest factor. A good teacher is a person who not just reproduces the knowledge he got. Not a person that only brings up the interest to the subject. It is a person who finds individual approach to every pupil, taking care about the child’s adaptation in class, increasing one’s social status in class and making sure the children learn to take into account and respect the thoughts of other people. It is a man or a woman that can not “play” the teacher’s role but he in the first place “ a feeling human being” in front of the students, a person that can show emotional response. For example, if the teacher is professionally good enough but does not take critics from the pupils constructively or does not explain why he thinks he is right this makes a huge gap between the students and the teacher. And when there is no emotional contact the learning cannot be called successful, for the students are not completely involved. When the teacher does not treat students as people that obey him, treats them like they are equal to him and explains equally to everybody it can really be a pointer of a “good” teacher. And one other very important thing is creativity.

One of the indicators of a “good” teacher it is his desire to teach in a new, original form, adding something new and personal to make the learning process as exciting as it can possibly be. A bad teacher is a person that focuses only on the information he provides not taking into account the children or anything. It is a person that is doing its job. Such a person can be very good in the theoretical part of his subject but he will never have students being emotionally attached to him. It is a teacher that lets his personal mood influence on the way he treats his students, ect. That cannot reduce awkward situations with humor either it is him in the situation or his student. Being a good teacher is about loving children and wanting to give them only the best the teacher has inside of him.

# Story Name: đŸŒŋGood and Bad TeachersđŸŒŋ

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

Tena koutou katoa A p*e me te toro ki taku wharangi 😘😘😘😘
15/12/2022

Tena koutou katoa A p*e me te toro ki taku wharangi 😘😘😘😘

12/12/2022

An old man gave his money and gold to his sons. He showed them his diamond ring and said to them, “I am not giving this ring to you now. Go out and do some noble deeds. Then come to me. Tell me your deeds. Then I will give this diamond ring to one of you. The ring will be the reward for the noblest-deed."

The sones went out. They did noble deeds. After some time, they returned to their father.

One of the sons said, “Fatherâ€Ļ Give me the ring. I have done a great and noble deed. A man left all his money with me. He traveled many countries. Then he came to me. He wanted his money back. I returned his money to him."

Another son said, “A child fell into a river. The water was carrying the child away. I jumped into the river. I saved the child."

The third son said, “Fatherâ€Ļ.please listen to me. My enemy was sleeping on the edge of a huge rock. I went to him and woke him up."

The father said, “All the people love their friends. But you loved your enemy. You saved him from his death. Yours is the noblest deed. Take this ring.

# Story Name: đŸŒŋDiamond RingđŸŒŋ

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

The story was written: 4 May 2019 at 9:30 am

12/12/2022

The cab driver picked up his passenger in the dead of the night. An elderly woman stood outside the building with a suitcase. He smiled at her as walked her to the car and carried her case into the trunk of the cab.

As they settled into drive he asked her where she wanted to goâ€Ļ

After giving him the address she askedâ€ĻCan we drive through downtown to get there?

It’ll be longer...he said.

The woman smiledâ€Ļ.I don’t mind, I’m going to the hospice tonight.

The cab driver looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glisteningâ€Ļ.I don't have any family leftâ€Ļ.she continued. The doctor says I don't have very long.

He quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

They drove for two hours with the woman showing the cab driver various buildings where she grew up, where she worked, where she met her husband.

As the sun started rising, they stopped outside the hospice where two orderlies greeted them. The cab driver carried her suitcase to her and she was already seated in a wheelchair to be taken in.

How much do I owe you?....she said.

The cab driver saidâ€ĻNothing at all.

You have to make a livingâ€Ļ. She answered.

Oh, there are other passengersâ€ĻHe responded.

Almost without thinking, he bent and gave her a hug. She held onto him tightly.

Their hug ended with her remarkâ€Ļ.You gave an old woman a little moment of joy.

After a slight pause, she addedâ€Ļ.Thank you.

We never get to know the stories of the people we meet. A little kindness and love is all that is needed to make a difference in the world.

# Story Name: 🌸Last Journey🌸

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

The story was written on: 20 December 2020 at 7:30 PM

12/12/2022

There are some things money can't buy. What's more valuable than money to YOU? I worked two jobs, was raising my 6-year-old alone and each week worried if I would make ends meet. In the evening, my son and I would spend a little time together, but he felt my stress even though I tried to hide it from him. One night we were sitting together and I was reading him a story. The story was about a family who had everything...a new car, beautiful home. It was so far from what we knew, it felt like make believe. Tears came to my eyes and I turned away from my son, I didn't want him to see me like this.

My young, but very wise little boy seemed to read my mind and said, "Mommyâ€Ļdon't cry. This family may have a lot of things, but you know we are rich too."

I looked at him not quite understanding what he meant. He went on to say, "We may not have a lot, but we have each other and we love each other. Money can't buy that."

I smiled and said, "Let me give you an INFINITY KISS." I kissed his cheek for a long time.

"This kiss will last forever, and ever and ever"

# Story Name: 💋Infinity Kiss💋

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

The story was written on February 14, 2016 at 1:00 am

10/12/2022

In the south of Spain, there was a small village whose people were very joyful. The children played under the shades of trees in the gardens of their homes.

A shepherd boy named Nasir stayed near the village with his father, mother and grandmother. Each morning, he took his herd of goats up the hills to find a suitable place for them to graze. In the afternoon he would return with them to the village. Each night his grandmother would tell him a story - the story of stars. This story really interested Nasir.

On one of those days, as Nasir was watching his herd and playing his flute, he suddenly saw a wonderful light behind a flower bush. When he approached the bush, he saw a transparent and very beautiful crystal ball.

The crystal ball was glittering like a colorful rainbow. Nasir carefully took it in his hand and turned it around. With surprise, suddenly, he heard a weak voice coming from the crystal ball. It said, "You can make a wish that your heart desires and I will fulfill it."

Nasir could not believe that he had actually heard a voice. When he made sure that he had indeed heard that voice from the crystal ball, he was very confused. He had so many wishes that he could not decide upon one particular wish. He said to himself, 'if I wait till tomorrow I will remember many things. Then I will make my wish.'

He put the crystal ball in a bag and, gathering the herd, happily returned to the village. He decided that he would not tell anyone about the crystal ball.

On the following day also, Nasir could not decide what to wish for, because he really had everything he needed.

The days passed as usual, but Nasir was still unable to make his wish. But he appeared to be very cheerful. The people around him were amazed to see the change in his disposition.

One day, a boy followed Nasir and his herd and hid behind a tree. Nasir, as usual, sat in one corner, took out the crystal ball and for a few moments looked at it. The boy waited for the moment when Nasir would go to sleep. When Nasir did fall asleep after a while, the boy took the crystal ball and ran away.

When he arrived at the village, he called all the people and showed them the crystal ball. The citizens of that village took the crystal ball in their hands and turned it around with surprise. Suddenly they heard a voice from inside the crystal ball, which said, "I can fulfill your wish." One person took the ball and screamed, "I want one bag full of gold." Another took the ball and said loudly, "I want two chests full of jewelry." Some of them wished that they would have their own palace with a grand door made from pure gold, instead of their old houses. Some others wished for bags full of jewelry.

All their wishes were fulfilled, but still the citizens of the village were not happy. They were jealous because the person that had a palace had no gold and the person that had the gold had no palace. For this reason, the citizens of the village were angry with each other and stopped speaking to each other. The gardens in the village where children used to play were no more. There were palaces and gold everywhere. The children became terribly unhappy. Only Nasir and his family were happy and contented. Every morning and afternoon he would play the flute.

One day the children of the village took the crystal ball to Nasir. The children said to Nasir, "When we had a small village, we all were happy and joyful." The parents also spoke. They said, "In one way or another, all of us are unhappy. The luxurious palaces and jewelry only bring us pain."

When Nasir saw that the people were really regretful, he said, "Even though the crystal ball asked me to wish for something, I have not done it so far. But if you really want everything to return to its own place, then I will wish for it."

Everyone happily agreed. Nasir took the crystal ball in his hand, turned it around and wished that the village would become the same as it was before. In a moment, the palaces disappeared, the green gardens appeared, and the same old village full of trees was there.

Once again the people started to live happily and the children played under the shade of trees. Nasir continued his contented life every day, playing his flute at sunset. Its sweet sound was heard throughout the beautiful green village.

# Story Name: 🍀The Crystal Ball:🍀

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

10/12/2022

One beautiful spring day a red rose blossomed in a forest. As the rose looked around, a pine tree nearby said, "What a beautiful flower! I wish I was that lovely." Another tree said, "Dear pine, do not be sad. We cannot have everything."

The rose turned and remarked, "It seems that I am the most beautiful flower in this forest."

A sunflower raised its yellow head and asked, "Why do you say that? In this forest there are many beautiful flowers. You are just one of them."

The red rose replied, "I see everyone looking at me and admiring me." Then the rose looked at a cactus and said, "Look at that ugly plant full of thorns!"

The pine tree said, "Red rose, what kind of talk is this? Who can say what beauty is? You have thorns too."

The proud red rose looked angrily at the pine and said, "I thought you had good taste! You do not know what beauty is at all. You cannot compare my thorns to that of the cactus."

"What a proud flower," thought the trees.

The rose tried to move its roots away from the cactus, but it could not move. As the days passed, the red rose would look at the cactus and say insulting things, like 'this plant is useless. How sorry I am to be his neighbor.'

The cactus never got upset and even tried to advise the rose, saying, "God did not create any form of life without a purpose."

Spring passed, and the weather became very warm. Life became difficult in the forest, as there was no rain. The red rose began to wilt.

One day the rose saw sparrows stick their beaks into the cactus and then fly away, refreshed. This was puzzling, and the red rose asked the pine tree what the birds were doing. The pine tree explained that the birds were getting water from the cactus.

"Does it not hurt when they make holes?" asked the rose.

Short Stories - Sparrow"Yes, but the cactus does not like to see the birds suffer," replied the pine.

The rose opened its eyes in wonder and exclaimed, "The cactus has water?"

"Yes, you can also drink from it. The sparrow can bring water to you if you ask the cactus for help."

The red rose felt too ashamed to ask for water from the cactus, but finally it did ask for help. The cactus kindly agreed. The birds filled their beaks with water and watered the rose's roots.

Thus the rose learned a lesson and never judged anyone by their appearance again.

# Story Name: 🌸Proud Red Rose🌸

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

This story was written on November 3, 2019 at 6:00 am

09/12/2022

Once upon a time, there lived a farmer in a village, beside a forest. He had a big garden that had an old apple tree and other plants, trees and beautiful flowers. When the farmer was a little boy, he spent much of his time playing with the apple tree. Those days, the apple tree had given the choicest of apples to him. However, as time passed, the apple tree became old and stopped bearing fruits.

Now that the farmer was not getting any apples from the tree, he decided that the tree was useless. Therefore, he decided to cut the tree and use its wood to make some new furniture. He felt that since the tree was old and huge, he did not have to cure it, and it would make great furniture. He forgot that as a boy, he had spent his entire childhood climbing the tree and eating its apples.

Now the apple tree was home to several little animals in the neighborhood. This included squirrels, sparrows and a huge variety of birds and insects. When the farmer took his axe and began chopping the tree, all the little animals came rushing down.

They all began to plead with the farmer. They gathered round the farmer and said, "Please don't cut the tree. We used to play with you when you were small, under this very tree. This is our home and we have no other place to go".

The farmer was adamant. He raised his axe and the commotion grew.

"Please don't chop and destroy my home and kids," cried the squirrel.

"Please don't chop and destroy my nest," cried the little birds.

"Please don't cut the apple tree," cried the grasshopper.

The farmer, however, forgot his childhood and his animal friends. He began to chop the tree harder. All the little animals became desperate, and wanted to protect the apple tree at any cost.

The little animals said, "We will sing for you when you are toiling away in the fields. We will look after your little boy. He will not cry, but instead will be entertained and happy. You will like our songs and will not feel tired."

However, their cries for help fell on deaf ears. Despite all their requests, the farmer continued to chop down the tree.

All of a sudden, he noticed something shiny. On inspecting it, he realized that it was a beehive, full of honey. He took a little and put it in his mouth. The taste of the honey woke up the little boy in him. Suddenly, the memories of his childhood came rushing back. The honey tasted so good that he wanted more. It brought a sense of happiness to him. He smiled and exclaimed, "This tastes amazing."

Realizing the change in the farmer's attitude, the little animals spoke in unison: The bee said, "I will always provide you with sweet honey." The squirrel said, "I will share any amount of nuts that you want." The birds cried, "We will sing as many songs as you want."

Finally, the farmer realized his folly, and put down his axe. He understood that the tree was home to many lovely animals that provided him with so many things. He wanted his little boy to have the childhood that he had.

The farmer realized that the apple tree was not that fruitless. The little boy in him saved the apple tree.

He threw away the axe and said to the little creatures, "I promise that I would never cut this tree. I have realized my mistake and you all can now live in peace and harmony."

The little creatures thanked the bee profusely. If the farmer had not found the beehive, they would have been homeless by now. They continued living happily in the old apple tree.

# Story Name: 💜The Apple Tree and the Farmer💜

# Author: 💙 Mahfujul Haque Sifat 💙

The story was written on: April 6, 2019 at 8:30 am

09/12/2022

āϏāĻžāρāĻā§‡āϰ āφāρāϧāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻĒāĻĨ āϚāϞāϤ⧇ āϚāϞāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϞ, āĻāχ āĻĻāĻŋāύāĻļ⧇āώ⧇ āϝ⧇ āĻšāϤāĻ­āĻžāĻ—āĻžāϰ āϘāϰ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ āϤāϰ⧁āĻŖ āĻŽā§āĻ– āϤāĻžāϰ ‘āĻ•āĻžāϞ⧋ āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇āϰ āĻ•āϰ⧁āĻŖ āĻ•āĻžāĻŽāύāĻžâ€™ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻ§ā§āϝāĻžāĻĻā§€āĻĒāϟāĻŋ āĻœā§āĻŦ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻĒāĻĨ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāύ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇ āύāĻž, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻļāĻĒā§āϤ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĄāĻŧāĻŽā§āĻŦāĻŋāϤ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āφāϰ āύ⧇āχ! āφāĻŽāĻžāϰāχ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž-āϰāĻžāϗ⧇ āϰāĻžā§āϜāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ—āĻ—āύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻļā§āϚāĻŋāĻŽ āĻĻ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻœā§āĻŦāĻžāϞāĻž āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻ§ā§āϝāĻž-āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§āϖ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ…āĻļā§āϰ⧁-āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻ›āϞ-āĻ›āϞ āĻšā§‹āĻ– āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ“āχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϏāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāĻŋāĻ˛ā§āϞāĻŋ-āϤāĻžāύ-āĻŽā§āĻ–āϰāĻŋāϤ āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āϰ āĻŽā§Œāύ āĻĒāĻĨ āĻŦ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āϚāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻž āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ, – ‘āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āĻŦā§‹āĻā§‡ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻ“āχ āĻāĻ• āϏāĻžāρāĻā§‡āϰ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž!’ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻžāϤ⧁āϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻ˛ā§āϞāĻŋ āĻšāϤ⧇ āφāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻ˛ā§āϞāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻāĻŽāύāχ āϏāĻžāρāĻā§‡ āĻāĻ•āĻž āĻļā§‚āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āϰ āϏāϰ⧁ āϰāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻž āϧāϰ⧇ āϚāϞāϤ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇ – āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāύ⧇ āĻāĻ• āϟ⧁āĻ•āϰ⧋ āϟāĻžāϟāĻ•āĻž āĻ•āĻžāϟāĻž-āĻ•āϞāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻāχ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻ§ā§āϝāĻžāϤāĻžāϰāĻžāϟāĻŋ āĻĢ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āĻ“āϠ⧇, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϏ⧇āχ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŦ⧇ āĻ•āϤ āĻŦ⧁āĻ•-āĻĢāĻžāϟāĻž āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āϏ⧇ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻĒā§€āĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϤ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāϕ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāχ āĻŽāϞāĻŋāύ āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āϰ āĻļā§‚āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻļā§‹āύāĻž āϝāĻžāĻšā§āϛ⧇ āύāĻž, āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϏāĻžāĻ¨ā§āĻ§ā§āϝ āύ⧀āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ ‘āϧ⧂āϞ⧋-āĻĢ⧁āϰāĻĢ⧁āϰāĻŋ’ āĻļāĻŋāϏ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāωāϞ āĻ—āĻžāύ āĻ—āĻžāχāϛ⧇, āφāϰ āϤāĻžāϰāχ āϏ⧂āĻ•ā§āĻˇā§āĻŽ āϰ⧇āĻļ āϰ⧇āĻļāĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧁āϤ⧋āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āωāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāύāĻŽāύāĻž-āĻŽāύ⧇ āϛ⧋āρāϝāĻŧāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāĻšā§āϛ⧇! āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĻ⧁āϟāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āφāĻļāĻŽāĻžāύ⧇āϰ āφāĻ™āĻŋāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻāϏ⧇ āϜ⧁āϟāϛ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡āĻ“ āϤāĻžāχ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āϏ⧁āĻĒā§āϤ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϰ, āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āϞ⧁āĻĒā§āϤ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻŋāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋāϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋāϰ āωāĻĻāϝāĻŧ āĻšāĻšā§āϛ⧇āĨ¤â€Ļ. āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻāĻ•āχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž, āĻāĻ•āχ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āϝ⧇ āĻ•āϤ āĻĻāĻŋāĻ• āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ•āϤ āϰāĻ•āĻŽā§‡ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϛ⧇, āϤāĻžāϰ āφāϰ āϏāĻ‚āĻ–ā§āϝāĻž āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āϤāĻŦ⧁ āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻ“-āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻŋ āĻ“-āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻžāϟāĻŋ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻŦ⧇āχ! āĻŽāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻžāϰ āύāĻŋāĻŦāĻŋāĻĄāĻŧ āĻŽāĻžāϧ⧁āĻ°ā§āϝāϕ⧇ āφāϰ āĻāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏāĻžāĻĒ āϝ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāĻ• āϛ⧇āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏ⧇āχ āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāĻ•āϟ⧁āϕ⧁āϰ āφāϞ⧋āϰ āĻŦāĻžāχāϰ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇ āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇ āϤāĻžāχāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāĻ• āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻžāϟ⧁āϕ⧁āϰ āĻ…āĻšā§‡āϤ⧁āĻ• āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŽāĻžāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻž āĻāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻž! āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻĻā§‚āϰ⧇ āĻšāĻžāĻŸā§‡āϰ āĻĢ⧇āϰāϤāĻž āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻŋāϤāĻž āĻĒāĻ˛ā§āϞāĻŋ-āĻŦāϧ⧂ āĻŽā§‡āĻ ā§‹ āϏ⧁āϰ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϜāύ āĻĒāĻĨ⧇ āϗ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻšā§āĻ›āĻŋāϞ, – ‘āĻĒāϰ⧇āϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻ āϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ, āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āĻĒāϰ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻ•āĻ–āύ āĻšāϝāĻŧ āφāĻĒāύ?’ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ – āĻšāϝāĻŧ āϰ⧇ āĻ…āĻ­āĻžāĻ—āĻŋ, āφāĻĒāύ āĻšāϝāĻŧ; āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āϕ⧇ āϏ⧇āϟāĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇āϰ āϧāύāϕ⧇ āϛ⧇āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ⧇āχ āϞ⧋āϕ⧇ āϭ⧁āϞ āĻŦ⧁āĻā§‡ āĻŦāϞ⧇, – ‘āĻĒāϰ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻ•āĻ–āύ āĻšāϝāĻŧ āφāĻĒāύ?’ āφāϰ āĻāĻ•āϜāύāĻ“ āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āĻāĻŽāύāχ āϭ⧁āϞ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϛ⧇āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇, āϏ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž āϭ⧁āϞāĻŦāĻžāϰ āύāϝāĻŧ! āĻĒāĻĨ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϰāĻšāĻŋāĻŖā§€āϰ āĻ“āχ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇āϰ āĻ—āĻžāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ⧇ āĻ…āĻŽāύāĻŋ āφāϰ āĻāĻ•āϜāύ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŽāĻžāύāĻŋāύ⧀āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ-āĻŽāĻžāϤāĻžāύ⧋ āĻ¸ā§āĻŽā§ƒāϤāĻŋāϟāĻŋ āĻŽāĻžāĻāĻŋāĻšāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĄāĻŋāĻ™āĻŋāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āϝāĻŽā§āύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇ āϭ⧇āϏ⧇ āωāĻ āϛ⧇! āϤāĻžāϤ⧇-āφāĻŽāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāϚāϝāĻŧ āϤ⧋ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āϛ⧇āϞ⧇āĻŦ⧇āϞāĻž āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āύāϝāĻŧ – āϤāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āφāϗ⧇ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇; āϏ⧇āχ āϚāĻŋāϰ-āĻĒāϰāĻŋāϚāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϤāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻŽāύ⧇ āύ⧇āχ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻŽāύ⧇ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ â€Ļ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϤ⧇āχ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļ⧇āώ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻāϰāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻšāϤ āϏ⧇āχ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ, āϝāĻ–āύ āĻ•āĻžāωāϕ⧇, āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ āĻĻ⧁āĻŸā§‹ āĻ­āϝāĻŧāĻžāύāĻ• āύāĻŋāĻļ-āĻĒāĻŋāĻļ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āωāĻ āϤāĨ¤ āĻ-āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻžāϰāĻ“ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻļ⧇āώāĻ¤ā§āĻŦ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ; āϝāĻ–āύ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŖ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ, āϤāĻ–āύ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻž, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻŦāĻŋāύāĻž āĻ•āĻžāϰāϪ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻžāϟāĻžāχ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϖ⧇āĻĒāĻž-āϖ⧇āϝāĻŧāĻžāϞāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ-āĻĒāĻŋāϟ⧁āύāĻŋ āĻ–āĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻĒāĻ›āĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻ•āϰāϤ āĻ•āĻŋ āύāĻž āϜāĻžāύāĻŋ āύ⧇, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻĻ⧁-āĻĻāĻŋāύ āύāĻž āĻŽāĻžāϰāϞ⧇ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϏ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϤ, – ‘āĻ•āχ āĻ­āĻžāχ, āĻ āĻĻ⧁-āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽāĻžāϰāύāĻŋ?’ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻˇā§āϟ āĻĒ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϤāĻžāĻŽ, – ‘āύāĻž āϰ⧇ āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋ, āϤ⧋āϕ⧇ āφāϰ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŦ āύāĻž!’ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ, āϏ⧇ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāύ⧇ āϝāĻž-āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āϜāĻŋāύāĻŋāϏ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ, āϤāĻžāχ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇ āĻ—āĻ­ā§€āϰ āϤ⧃āĻĒā§āϤāĻŋ āφāϏāϤ! āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϤ, āĻāχ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧāϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāϘāĻžāϤāϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āϭ⧁āϞāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāχ āĻĨ⧇āϕ⧇ āĻ›āĻŦāĻŋ āĻ›āĻŋāρāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāχ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŦāĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŽā§‚āĻ˛ā§āϝāĻŦāĻžāύ āωāĻĒāĻšāĻžāϰāĨ¤ āĻāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϝāĻŧāχ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻļāĻžāϞāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϏāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ•āĻžāύ āϧāϰ⧇ āĻĻāĻžāρāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ⧇ āĻšāϤāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϤāĻžāĻŽ āϝ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻ“āχ āĻŽāĻšāĻž āωāĻĒāĻšāĻžāϰ āϏ⧇ āĻĒāϰāĻŽ āφāĻ—ā§āϰāĻšā§‡ āφāρāϚāϞ⧇āϰ āφāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϞ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒ⧁āϤ⧁āϞ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻ›āĻžāύāĻž āĻĒ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āĻšā§‡, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ‚āĻŦāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āϖ⧇āϞāĻžāϘāϰ⧇āϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϞ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϤ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧇āϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āĻāρāĻŸā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇, āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻ āĻļāĻžāϞāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻ…āĻĒāĻŽāĻžāύ āϭ⧁āϞ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ“āχ āĻŽā§‡āύāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϞāϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻĻ⧁-āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϤāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻž, āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āϝ⧇ āĻ…āϤ āφāĻĻāϰ āĻ•āϰāĻŦ⧇ āϰāĻžāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ, āĻ āϝ⧇āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāχāϤ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϰāĻžāĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āϏāĻŦāĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋ āĻ›āĻŦāĻŋāϟāĻž āφāĻ āĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ“āχ āĻŽā§‡āύāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϞāĻ›āĻžāύāĻžāϟāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻŋāϠ⧇ āĻāρāĻŸā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ, āφāĻŽāĻŋāĻ“ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻĨāĻžāĻĒā§āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇āϰ āĻšā§‹āĻŸā§‡ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧁āϞāĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϞāĻŦāĻžāĻšā§āϚāĻžāϟāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ¤ā§āϰāĻŋāϭ⧁āĻŦāύ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻžāĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻŋāĻ“ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āĻŦ⧁āĻā§‡ āϝ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏ⧇ āϰ⧇āϗ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ āĻŦāĻž āĻŽā§āĻ–āĻ–āĻžāύāĻž āĻšāĻžāρāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋ-āĻĒāĻžāύāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ, āϤāĻ–āύ āĻœā§‹āϰ āϧ⧁āĻŽāϏ⧁āύāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇ āϕ⧇! āϏ⧇ āϝāϤ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻāϤ, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤāϤ āĻŽā§āĻ– āϭ⧇āĻ™āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡ āĻĻāĻžāρāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻžāρāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻšāĻžāϏāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻāĻ• āĻāĻ• āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻŋāϠ⧇āϰ āϚāĻžāĻŽāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāρāϚāϟāĻŋ āφāϙ⧁āϞ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϞ⧋ āĻĻāĻžāĻ— āĻĢ⧁āϟāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāϤāĻžāĻŽ! āφāĻļā§āϚāĻ°ā§āϝ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϤāĻžāĻŽ, āĻ“āχ āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ–āĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ⧇āχ āϏ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻļ āĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ¸ā§āϤāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇; āφāϰ, āĻāĻ• āĻŽāĻŋāύāĻŋāĻŸā§‡ āϕ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϏāĻŦ āϭ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϜāϞ āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇ āĻŽā§āϖ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻ­āϰāĻž āĻšāĻžāϏāĻŋ āĻāύ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāϙ⧁āϞāϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āĻŸā§‡āύ⧇ āĻŽā§āϚāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĢ⧁āϟāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϛ⧇, – ‘āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻšāĻžāĻŸā§āϟāĻž āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āĻĻ⧁āĻˇā§āϟ⧁ āφāϙ⧁āϞāϗ⧁āϞ⧋āϕ⧇ āĻāϕ⧇āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇ āϭ⧇āϙ⧇ āύ⧁āϞ⧋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧ! āϤāĻž āĻšāϞ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻŋ, āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ“āχ āϠ⧁āρāĻŸā§‹ āĻšāĻžāϤ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϕ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽāĻžāϰ!’ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϏāĻŋ āĻĻ⧇āϖ⧇ āϰ⧇āϗ⧇ āĻĒāĻŋāϠ⧇āϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϞāĻžāĻĨāĻŋ āĻŽā§‡āϰ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϤāĻžāĻŽ, – ‘āϤāĻžāĻšāϞ⧇ āĻāĻŽāύāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧋āϰ āĻĒāĻŋāϠ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāĻĻ⧁āϰ⧇ āϤāĻžāϞ āĻĢ⧇āϞāĻžāχ!’ āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻāϤ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻāϤ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻžāĻĻāĻžāϜāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻšā§‡āϞāĻž-āĻ•āĻžāĻ  āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻœā§‹āϰ āϤāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇āύ, āϤāĻ–āύ āϏ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϏ⧇ āĻāϕ⧇āĻŦāĻžāϰ⧇ āϞ⧁āϟāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϤ! āϰāĻžāϗ⧇ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻļāϰ⧀āϰ āĻ—āĻļ-āĻ—āĻļ āĻ•āϰāϤāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāχ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĢāĻžāρāϕ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϞ⧇āχ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĒāĻŋāϟāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻā§‹āϰāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻŦāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āϖ⧇āϞāĻž-āϘāϰ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŦ āϭ⧇āϙ⧇ āϚ⧁āϰ⧇ āĻāĻ•āĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤāĻžāĻŽ, āĻāχ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏ⧇ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ-āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ āϖ⧇āĻĒ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻŋāϠ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧāϤ⧋ āĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āϞāĻžāĻ āĻŋāϰ āϘāĻž āĻŦāϏāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻĒāύ⧇āϰ⧋ āϧāϰ⧇ āϞ⧁āĻ•āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āϤ, āĻ­āϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϰ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āϤ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻŽāύ⧇ āφāϏāϤ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻĄā§āĻĄ āĻĻ⧁āσāĻ– āĻšāϤāĨ¤ āφ āĻŽāϞ⧋, āĻ“-āϞāĻžāĻ āĻŋāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ āĻŽā§‹āώ-āϚāĻžāĻŽāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āĻšāϝāĻŧ? āφāϰ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϞāχ āĻŦāĻž! āϤāĻžāχ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āĻ•āĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāρāĻĻāϰāĻŋ āĻāĻŽāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϞ⧁āĻ•āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻ•āĻŦ⧇? āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āϝāĻ–āύ āύāĻžāύāĻžāύ āϰāĻ•āĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻŦā§āϝāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻ•āϏāĻŽ āϖ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĢ⧁āϏāϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĄā§‡āϕ⧇ āφāύāϤāĻžāĻŽ, āϤāĻ–āύ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϞāĻŽā§āĻŦāĻž āϚ⧁āϞāϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āύāĻžāύāĻžāύ āϰāĻ•āĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻŦāĻžāρāĻ•āĻž-āϏ⧋āϜāĻž āϏāĻŋāρāĻĨāĻŋ āϕ⧇āĻŸā§‡ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϤ ‘āĻĻ⧇āĻ–ā§‹ āĻ­āĻžāχ, āφāϰ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āĻ–ā§āĻ–āύ⧋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŦ āύāĻž! āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŋ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇ āϝ⧇āύ āϕ⧁āĻ  āĻšāϝāĻŧ, āĻĒā§‹āĻ•āĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ!’ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ⧇ āĻšāĻ āĻžā§Ž āĻŦāϞ⧇ āωāĻ āϤ, –‘āφāĻšā§āĻ›āĻž āĻ­āĻžāχ, āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋āύ āĻŦ⧇āϟāĻŋ āϛ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻšāϤ⧇, āϤāĻžāĻšāϞ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻļ āĻšāϤ, – āύāϝāĻŧ? – āĻĻāĻžāĻ“ āύāĻž āĻ­āĻžāχ, āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āϚ⧁āϞāϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĢāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āρāϧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāχāĨ¤â€™ āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏ⧇ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ-āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋāχ āĻ•āĻ–āύ⧋ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻ•āχāϤ⧇ āĻ•āχāϤ⧇ āĻĻ⧁āĻˇā§āϟ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϚ⧁āϞ⧇ āĻāĻŽāύ āĻŦāĻŋāωāύāĻŋ āϗ⧇āρāĻĨ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ āϝ⧇, āϤāĻž āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϘāĻ¨ā§āϟāĻž āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϤāĨ¤â€Ļ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āϕ⧀ āĻšāϞ? â€Ļ āĻāχ āĻļā§‚āĻ¨ā§āϝ āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āϰ āĻ–āĻžāύāĻŋāĻ•āϟāĻž āϰāĻžāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻž āĻĒ⧇āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āĻļāĻžāĻļā§āĻŦāϤ āĻļā§āϰ⧋āϤāĻž āϜāĻŋāĻœā§āĻžā§‡āϏ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – āĻšāĻžāρ āĻ­āĻžāχ, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āϕ⧀ āĻšāϞ? āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻ• āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āĻ•ā§āώāĻŖ āĻāχ āύāĻŋāĻā§āĻŽ āϏāĻžāρāĻā§‡āϰ āϜāĻŽāĻžāϟ āύāĻŋāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŦā§āϧāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āϝ⧇āύ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻšāĻžāϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĢ⧇āϞāϞ⧇! āĻšāĻ āĻžā§Ž āĻāχ āύ⧀āϰāĻŦāϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – ‘āύāĻž – āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŋ! āϏ⧇āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻŽāĻŋāĻĨā§āϝāĻž āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋ, āĻŽāĻŋāĻĨā§āϝāĻž āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ!’ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻ–āĻžāĻĒāĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āφāĻ•ā§āώ⧇āĻĒ āϏāĻžāρāĻā§‡āϰ āĻŦ⧇āϞāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤ⧋āĻĄāĻŧāĻŋ āϰāĻžāĻ—āĻŋāĻŖā§€ āφāϞāĻžāĻĒ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āϝ⧇āύ āĻŦāĻŋāώāĻŽ āĻŦ⧇-āϏ⧁āϰ⧋ āĻŦāĻžāϜāϞ! – āϏ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻĨāĻŋāϰ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏ⧁āϰ-āĻŦāĻžāĻšāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻĒ⧁āϰāĻŦāĻŋāϰ āĻŽā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻ›āύāĻž āĻĢā§‹āϟāĻžāϞ⧇! āϚāĻŋāϰ-āĻĒāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāϏāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϚāĻŋāϰāĻ¨ā§āϤāύ āϤ⧃āώāĻŋāϤ āφāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖ āĻ­āϰ⧇ āϏ⧇ āϏ⧁āϰ-āϏ⧁āϧāĻž āĻĒāĻžāύ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϞ! āĻāĻŽāύāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϝāĻžāĻšā§āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻāĻ—āĻžāϰ⧋āϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻ›āĻžāĻ•āĻžāĻ›āĻŋ, āϤāĻ–āύ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻœā§‹āϰ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ-āĻŽāĻšāϞ⧇āϰ āφāρāϧāĻžāϰ āϕ⧋āϪ⧇ āϠ⧇āϏ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻšāϞāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āϕ⧀ āĻ›āϟāĻĢāϟāĻžāύāĻŋ āϤāĻ–āύ āϤāĻžāϰ āφāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ! āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϞ, āĻāχ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ-āĻ¸ā§āϰ⧋āϤ⧇āϰ āĻĸ⧇āω āĻĨ⧇āĻŽā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞ! āĻ¸ā§āϰ⧋āϤ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āϤāϰāĻ™ā§āĻ— āĻšāĻžāϰāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āϏ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āχ āĻŦā§‹āĻā§‡, āĻŦāĻžāρāϧ-āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āĻĒā§āϰāĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻĻāĻŋāϘāĻŋāϰ āϜāϞ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤāϕ⧇ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧāύ⧇ āφāύāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āĻˇā§āϟāĻž āĻ•āϰāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ, āϤāĻ–āύāχ āϤāĻžāϰ āϤāϰāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻ˛ā§āϞ⧋āϞ⧇ āĻŽāϧ⧁āϰ āϚāϞ-āϚāĻĒāϞāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āϞāĻš-āĻŦāĻžāĻŖā§€ āĻĢ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āĻ“āϠ⧇! āϤāĻžāχ āĻ-āϰāĻ•āĻŽā§‡ āϚāϞāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻĨ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāϧāĻž āĻĒ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻšāϜ āĻĸ⧇āω āĻŦāĻŋāĻĻā§āϰ⧋āĻšā§€ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āϤ⧁āϞ⧇ āϏāĻžāĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ•āϞ āĻŦāĻžāϧāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĄāĻŋāĻ™āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āϚāĻŋāϰ-āϚāĻžā§āϚāϞ⧇āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇āϰ āϧāĻžāϰāĻž āĻāχ āϚāĻĒāϞ āĻ—āϤāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻĨāĻžāĻŽāĻžāĻŦ⧇ āϕ⧇? āĻĒāĻĨ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻ āĻžā§Ž āϤāĻžāϰ āϚāϞāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāĻžāϧāĻž āĻĒ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāĻ•ā§āϰ-āϕ⧁āϟāĻŋāϞ āĻ—āϤāĻŋ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨāĻŋāϕ⧇ āϖ⧁āρāϜāϤ⧇ āϛ⧁āϟāϞāĨ¤ āĻāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇ āϝ⧇āύ āϏ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇āϰ āĻĸ⧇āω-āĻāϰ āĻ–āĻŦāϰ āĻĒ⧇āϞ⧇! āϏāĻ°ā§āĻŦāĻ•ā§āώāĻŖ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāϕ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻšā§‡āĻˇā§āϟāĻž āĻ•āϰ⧇āύāĻŋ, āϏ⧇ āĻĻā§‚āϰ⧇ āϏāϰ⧇ āĻāχ āĻĻā§‚āϰāĻ¤ā§āĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž, āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϰ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻœā§‡āϗ⧇ āωāĻ āϤ⧇āχ āϏ⧇ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āϚāĻŋāύāϞ āĻāĻŦāĻ‚ āĻŦāϞ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – ‘āϝāĻžāϕ⧇ āϚāĻžāχ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϤ⧇āχ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤â€™ āĻŦāĻžā§āϚāĻŋāϤ āĻ¸ā§āύ⧇āĻšā§‡āϰ āĻšāĻžāĻšāĻžāĻ•āĻžāϰ, āĻ›āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āύ āĻŦāĻžāϏāύāĻžāϰ āφāϕ⧁āϞ āĻ•āĻžāĻŽāύāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āωāĻĻā§āĻĻāĻžāĻŽ āωāĻ¨ā§āĻŽāĻžāĻĻāύāĻž āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ! āϤāĻ–āύ āϏ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āφāĻ•āĻžāĻ™ā§āĻ•ā§āώāĻŋāϤ āφāĻļā§āϰāϝāĻŧāϕ⧇ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻĒāĻĨ⧇ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϖ⧁āρāϜāϤ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϞāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ⧇ āĻŦ⧁āĻāϞ⧇, āĻ āϏāĻžāĻĨāĻŋ āύāĻž āĻšāϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ—āϤāĻŋ āĻšāĻžāϰāĻžāĻŦ! āĻāχ āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āφāϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧāύ⧇āϰ āϝ⧁āĻāĻžāϝ⧁āĻāĻŋāϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāĻšāĻŋāϞ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ! āϏāĻŽāĻžāϜ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇, – āϰāĻžāĻ– āϤ⧋āϰ āĻ āĻŽā§āĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ – āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāχ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϞ āĻĻāĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ! āϏ⧇āχ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϞ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āϖ⧁āρāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϰāĻ•ā§āϤ-āĻ—āĻ™ā§āĻ—āĻž āĻŦāĻšāĻžāϞ⧇, āĻĒāĻžāώāĻžāϪ⧇āϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϞ – āĻ­āĻžāĻ™āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞ⧇ āύāĻž! āĻ-āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϕ⧇āω āϰāĻžāĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞ⧇ āύāĻž! āϞ⧋āϕ⧇āϰ āϚāϞāĻžāϰ āωāϞāĻŸā§‹ āĻĒāĻĨ⧇ āωāϜāĻžāύ āĻŦ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϚāϞāĻžāχ āĻšāϞ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϜ! āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻŽāĻžāϰāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻŋ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ“ āϝāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ¸ā§āϕ⧁āϞ⧇āϰ āĻ–āĻžāρāϚāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒ⧁āϰāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞ⧇ āύāĻž, āϤāĻ–āύ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇, – āĻ āϛ⧇āϞ⧇āϰ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻžāĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϏ⧁āĻ—ā§āϰ⧀āĻŦ-āϏāĻšāϚāϰ āĻĻāĻ—ā§āϧāĻŽā§āĻ– āĻšāύ⧁āĻŦāĻ‚āĻļ āϕ⧀ āĻĻā§‹āώ āĻ•āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ? āϤāĻžāϰāĻžāĻ“ āĻšāĻžāϞ āϛ⧇āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻŋāĻ“ āĻšāĻžāρāĻĒ āϛ⧇āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāρāϚāϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŋāϰ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϞāĻžāĻŽ āĻāχ āĻŦāĻžāϧāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϰ⧁āĻĻā§āϧ⧇ āϝ⧁āĻĻā§āϧ āĻ•āϰāϤ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāϤ āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āϭ⧁āϞ⧇ āϰāϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ, āϤāϤāχ āϝ⧇āύ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āφāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻŋāĻ•āϟāϤāĻŽ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŦ āύāĻŋāĻ°ā§āĻ­āϰāϤāĻž āϏāρāĻĒ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇! – āϝāĻŽā§āύāĻž āφāϏāĻ›āĻŋāϞ āϏāĻžāĻ—āϰ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāύ⧇, āĻ“āχ āϏāĻžāĻ—āϰāĻ“ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻ—āĻ¨ā§āϤ-āϛ⧋āρāϝāĻŧāĻž āĻĸ⧇āω-āĻāϰ āφāϕ⧁āϞāϤāĻž āϞāĻ•ā§āώ āĻŦāĻžāĻšā§āϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻ—ā§āϰāϤāĻž āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āϛ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϚāĻžāχāϞ! āĻĻ⧁āϜāύ⧇āχ āĻ…āϧ⧀āϰ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞ āĻāχ āϭ⧇āĻŦ⧇ – āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ! āĻ•āĻŦ⧇ āϕ⧋āĻ¨ā§ āĻŽā§‹āĻšāĻžāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϚ⧁āĻŽā§‹āϚ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āĻšāĻŦ⧇, āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻāĻ• āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇!â€Ļ āφāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻž-āĻļā§‹āύāĻž āĻšāϤ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āϝāĻž āĻšāϤ, āϤāĻž āĻ•āĻ–āύāĻ“ āϏāĻŦāĻžāχāϕ⧇ āϞ⧁āĻ•āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ“āχ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻšā§‹āϰāĻž-āϚāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āύāϝāĻŧāϤ⧋ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧāύ⧇āϰ āĻĢāĻžāρāĻ• āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻ⧁āϟāĻŋ āϤ⧃āώāĻŋāϤ āĻ…āϤ⧃āĻĒā§āϤ āĻĻ⧃āĻˇā§āϟāĻŋāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāύāĻŋāĻŽāϝāĻŧ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āĻāĻ• āĻĒāϞāϕ⧇āϰ āϚāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϤ⧇āχ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻ•āϤ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻļ⧁āϧāĻžāύ⧋ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ, āĻ•āϤ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž-āĻĒ⧁āϞāĻ• āĻļāĻŋāωāϰ⧇ āωāĻ āϤ, āϤāĻž āĻ āĻŋāĻ• āĻŦā§‹āĻāĻžāύ⧋ āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āύāĻž! * * * āφāϰāĻ“ āĻĒāĻžāρāϚ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āĻĒāϰ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž! – āĻāĻ•āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻļ⧁āύāϞāĻžāĻŽ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇, āĻŽāĻ¸ā§āϤ āĻŦāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āϜāĻŽāĻŋāĻĻāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āϛ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋ-āĻ āĻĒāĻžāϏ āĻāĻ• āϝ⧁āĻŦāϕ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇āĨ¤ āĻŦāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻšāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āϏ⧇ āĻļā§āĻŦāĻļ⧁āϰāĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋ āϚāϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇, āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇āϰ āϚāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϟ⧁āϕ⧁āĻ“ āĻĢ⧁āϰāĻžāĻŦ⧇, āĻāχ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻžāϟ⧁āϕ⧁āχ āĻŦāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āĻ—āĻ­ā§€āϰ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŽāĻ°ā§āĻŽā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻžāĻ— āϕ⧇āĻŸā§‡ āĻŦāϏ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ! āĻ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻ—āĻžāĻĸāĻŧ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇āϰ āĻ­āĻŋāϤāϰ āϝ⧇āύ āĻĒāĻŋāώ⧇ āĻĒāĻŋāώ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϞāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϝāĻ–āύ āĻŽā§‡āϘ-āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āĻĻā§€āĻĒā§āϤ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝāĻžāĻšā§āύ-āϏ⧂āĻ°ā§āϝ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āϏāĻšāϏāĻž āĻāχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇ āωāĻĻāϝāĻŧ āĻšāϞ āϝ⧇, āϏ⧇ āϏ⧁āĻ–ā§€ āĻšāĻŦ⧇, āϤāĻ–āύ āϝ⧇āύ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāϤ⧁āύ āĻĒāĻĨ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, – āύāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϜāĻ¨ā§āĻŽā§‡ āĻ•āĻžāϰ⧁āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āύāϤ āĻ•āϰāĻŋāύāĻŋ, āφāϜāĻ“ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϜāϝāĻŧā§€ āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āφāϰ āĻĻ⧁āσāĻ–āχ āĻŦāĻž āϕ⧀āϏ⧇āϰ? āϏ⧇ āϧāύ⧀ āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻŋāϤ āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āϝ⧁āĻŦāϕ⧇āϰ āĻ…āĻ™ā§āĻ•āϞāĻ•ā§āĻˇā§āĻŽā§€ āĻšāĻŦ⧇, āĻ…āĻ­āĻžāĻ—āĻŋ āĻŽā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏ⧁āĻ–ā§€ āĻšāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϜāĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇ āϝāĻž-āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁ āϚāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āϝāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻĒāĻžāĻŦ⧇; āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āϤāĻŦ⧁ āĻ…āĻŦ⧁āĻ āĻŽāύ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āύāĻž! āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋āύ āĻāϤ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻž āϤ⧋ āϏ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻž! āĻāχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻ•-āϟāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāĻŦāϤ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āĻ• āĻ•āĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ­āϰ⧇ āĻāϞ, – āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϝ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāχāϰ⧇āϰ āĻĻā§€āύāϤāĻž āϤāĻžāχ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϤāϰ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝ-āĻĒā§āϰ⧇āĻŽā§‡āϰ āĻ—ā§ŒāϰāĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻœā§‹āϰ⧇ āĻ–āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻšāϞāĨ¤ āĻāĻ• āĻ…āϜāĻžāύāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āϤ⧀āĻŦā§āϰ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŽāĻžāύ⧇āϰ āφāĻ•ā§āϰ⧋āĻļ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āϏ⧁āĻ– āĻŦāĻŋāϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻšāĻŋāĻ‚āϏāĻž āύ⧇āĻŦāĨ¤ āĻ¤ā§āϝāĻžāĻ— āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĻā§€āύāϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ­āϰ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāĻŦāĨ¤ āĻāϤ āĻĻā§āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§āĻŦ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡â€™ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ āϏ⧁āĻ–ā§€ āĻšāĻŦā§‡â€™ āĻāχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻŋāϰ āĻ—āĻ­ā§€āϰ āϤāĻ¤ā§āĻ¤ā§āĻŦ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāϪ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āϰāĻŽā§‡āχ āϕ⧇āĻŸā§‡ āϕ⧇āĻŸā§‡ āĻŦāϏāϤ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϞ, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āĻšāĻ āĻžā§Ž āĻāĻ• āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻāĻžā§āĻāĻž āĻāĻĄāĻŧ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž āϤāϰāĻ™ā§āĻ— āϧ⧀āϰ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻ¸ā§āϤāĻŦā§āϧ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ! āĻŦāĻŋāĻĒ⧁āϞ āĻĒāĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰ āϏāĻžāĻ¨ā§āĻ¤ā§āĻŦāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϤ āĻŽāύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϝ⧇āύ āϏ⧁āϧāĻžāϏāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ! āφāσ! āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ⧇ āĻāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ“āĻ—ā§‹ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻžāϰ āφāϰāĻžāĻŽ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ? āĻāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āύāĻŋāĻļā§āϚāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤāϤāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻž āϕ⧇āρāĻĻ⧇ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻšāϞāĻžāĻŽ! āĻ āϕ⧋āĻ¨ā§ āĻ…āĻ°ā§āĻĢāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāϏ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāρāĻļāĻŋāϰ āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧāĻž-āϤāĻžāύ, āĻāĻŽāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āĻĻ⧁āϰāĻ¨ā§āϤ āϏāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϧ⧁āϕ⧇ āϘ⧁āĻŽ āĻĒāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ? â€Ļ āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āĻāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻŦāĻžāρāĻļāĻŋāϰ āĻāχ āϜāĻžāĻĻ⧁-āĻ•āϰāĻž āϏ⧁āϰ āϕ⧋āĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ›āĻŋāϞ? – āϏ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āύāĻŋāĻļā§€āĻĨ āϰāĻžāϤ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧāύ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāύ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϤāĻžāχ āϗ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāϞāĻžāĻŽ, – ‘āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāĻšā§ āĻŦāĻžāϏāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžāĻŖāĻĒāϪ⧇ āϚāĻžāχ āĻŦāĻžā§āϚāĻŋāϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāρāϚāĻžāϞ⧇ āĻŽā§‹āϰ⧇! āĻ āĻ•ā§ƒāĻĒāĻž āĻ•āĻ ā§‹āϰ āϏāĻžā§āϚāĻŋāϤ āĻŽā§‹āϰ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ āĻ­āϰ⧇?’ āĻŦāĻžāσ, āĻāϰāχ āĻŽāĻ§ā§āϝ⧇āχ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϚāĻŋ āĻŽāĻžāϠ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĒāĻĨāϟāĻž āĻĒ⧇āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ—āĻžāρāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āϏ⧀āĻŽāĻž-āϰ⧇āĻ–āĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāĻ›āĻžāĻ•āĻžāĻ›āĻŋ āĻāϏ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ! āĻĻā§‚āϰ āĻšāϤ⧇ āϘāϰ⧇ āϘāϰ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϟāĻŋāϰ āφāϰ āϕ⧇āϰ⧋āϏāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āϝ⧇ āϧ⧋āρāϝāĻŧāĻž-āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻĻā§€āĻĒ⧇āϰ āφāĻ­āĻžāϏ āĻĒāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻž āϝāĻžāĻšā§āϛ⧇, āϤāĻžāϤ⧇āχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ āϕ⧇āĻŽāύ āĻ“āχ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĻā§€āĻĒ-āĻœā§āĻŦāĻžāϞāĻž āϘāϰ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϕ⧇ āφāĻ•ā§ƒāĻˇā§āϟ āĻšāĻšā§āϛ⧇! āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāĻšā§āϛ⧇, āĻ“āχ āĻĻā§€āĻĒ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļ⧇ āĻ˜ā§‹āĻŽāϟāĻž-āĻĒāϰāĻž āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āϛ⧋āĻŸā§‹ āĻŽā§āĻ– āĻšāϝāĻŧāϤ⧋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĻ⧁-āĻšā§‹āĻ–-āĻ­āϰāĻž āφāϕ⧁āϞ āĻĒā§āϰāϤ⧀āĻ•ā§āώāĻž āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĨ⧇āϰ āĻĒāĻžāύ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻĻāĻ–āĻŋāύ āĻšāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ—āĻžāϛ⧇āϰ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻž āĻāϰ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϞ⧇ āĻ…āĻŽāύāĻŋ āϏ⧇ āϚāĻŽāϕ⧇ āωāĻ āϛ⧇, – āĻ“āχ āĻ—ā§‹ āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤ⧀āĻ•ā§āώāĻžāϰ āϧāύ āĻāϞ! āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇ āĻāχ āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āφāĻļāĻž-āύāĻŋāϰāĻžāĻļāĻžāϰ āϝ⧇ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āύāĻŋāĻŦāĻŋāĻĄāĻŧ āφāύāĻ¨ā§āĻĻ āϘ⧁āϰāĻĒāĻžāĻ• āĻ–āĻžāĻšā§āϛ⧇, āϤāĻžāϰāχ āύ⧇āĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϏ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϤāĻžāϞ! āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āϏ⧇āχ āϚāĻŋāϰāϕ⧇āϞ⧇ āĻ…āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻŦāĻŋāϰāĻšā§€ āĻļā§āϰ⧋āϤāĻž āϤāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – āĻ“ āϏāĻŦ āĻĒāϰ⧇ āϭ⧇āĻŦā§‹āĻ–āύ, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āϕ⧀ āĻšāϞ, āĻŦāϞ⧋!â€Ļ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻ—āĻžāρāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āύāϤ-āφāρāĻ–āĻŋāϰ āĻ¸ā§āύ⧇āĻš-āϚāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āύāĻŋāĻŦāĻŋāĻĄāĻŧ āĻļāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋ āύ⧇āĻŽā§‡ āĻāϏ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻ•āϰ⧁āĻŖ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻžāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āĻĒāĻŦāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āϰ āĻ¸ā§āύāĻŋāĻ—ā§āϧāϤāĻž āĻŽāĻŋāĻļ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāϝāĻŧāύ-āĻĒāĻ˛ā§āϞāĻŦ āϏāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āφāύāϞ⧇āĨ¤ āϜāϞ-āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻ•āĻŋ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟ⧁āϕ⧁ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϞāĨ¤â€Ļ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻ•āϤāĻ• āφāϗ⧇āϰ āĻāĻ• āϰāĻžāϤ⧇ āϤāĻžāϤ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϤ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āĻ“ āĻļ⧇āώ āĻ—ā§‹āĻĒāύ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āĻž āĻļā§‹āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇ – ‘āĻ āĻŦāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇āϤ⧇ āϕ⧀ āĻšāĻŦ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāχ?’ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, ‘āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϏ⧁āĻ–ā§€ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤â€™ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āϏāĻšāϜ āĻ•āĻŖā§āĻ  āĻļ⧁āύ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāϝāĻŧāϏ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāϝāĻŧāϏ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž – āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻŦāϧāĻžāύ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āϏāĻŦ āϝ⧇āύ āϭ⧁āϞ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞāĨ¤ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āφāĻ•āĻžāĻļ āĻ­āϰāĻž āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŽā§āĻ– āϟāĻŋāĻĒ⧇ āĻšā§‡āϏ⧇ āωāĻ āϞāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϤ⧇āĻŽāύāχ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϏ⧇āχ āϛ⧇āϞ⧇āĻŦ⧇āϞāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧇āϰ āφāϙ⧁āϞāϗ⧁āϞ⧋ āĻĢ⧁āϟāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ, ‘āϤāĻž āϕ⧀ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇? āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϝ⧇ āϛ⧇āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āϝ⧇āϤ⧇ āĻšāĻŦ⧇, āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϝ⧇ āφāϰ āĻĻ⧇āĻ–āϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāĻŦ āύāĻžāĨ¤â€™ āĻāϤ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāχ āύāϤ⧁āύ āϰāĻ•āĻŽā§‡āϰ āφāĻ°ā§āĻĻā§āϰ āĻ•āĻŖā§āϠ⧇āϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻŖā§€ āĻļ⧁āύāϞāĻžāĻŽ! āϤāĻžāϰ āϟāĻžāύāĻž āϟāĻžāύāĻž āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇āϰ āϘāύ āĻĻā§€āĻ°ā§āϘ āĻĒāĻžāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϤāĻžāϰāĻžāϰ āĻ•ā§āώ⧀āĻŖ āφāϞ⧋ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻĢāϞāĻŋāϤ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϜāĻžāύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĻāĻŋāϞ, āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāρāĻĻāϛ⧇! āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, – ‘āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻāϤ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϰ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϝāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϛ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇, āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ“ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŦ⧇; āϏ⧇āĻ–āĻžāύ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻŦ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āϭ⧁āϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤â€™ āĻ…āĻ¨ā§āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒā§āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧāϕ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ“ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŦ⧇, āĻāχ āϚāĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻžāϟāĻžāĻ“ āϝ⧇āύ āĻ…āϏāĻšā§āϝāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ¸ā§āĻŦāĻžāĻŽā§€ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āϧāύ⧀ āĻšā§‹āĻ•, āϏ⧁āĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϰ āĻšā§‹āĻ•, āĻļāĻŋāĻ•ā§āώāĻŋāϤ āĻšā§‹āĻ•, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžāϰ āĻŽāĻžāύ⧁āώāϟāĻŋāϕ⧇, āĻŦāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŽāĻžāύ⧇āχ āĻ“āχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻž āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, āĻ•āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āϤ⧁ āĻ-āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻž āĻŦāϞ⧇āχ āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻ“ āϝ⧇āύ āĻŦāĻŋāĻĒ⧁āϞ āĻ•āĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻž āĻ•āĻŖā§āϠ⧇ āĻĢ⧇āĻŸā§‡ āĻŦ⧇āϰāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāϏāϤ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϞāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻž āϰ⧁āϧāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āύ⧇āχ – āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤāĻŋ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āĻŽā§‚āĻ°ā§āĻ›āĻžāϤ⧁āϰāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āϏ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻžāϤāϟāĻž āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻœā§‹āϰ⧇ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇āϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āĻšā§‡āĻĒ⧇ āϧāϰ⧇ āφāĻ°ā§āϤ āĻ•āĻŖā§āϠ⧇ āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, ‘āύāĻžâ€“āύāĻžâ€“ āύāĻžāĨ¤â€™ āϕ⧀āϏ⧇āϰ āĻ ‘āύāĻžâ€™? āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϤ⧀āĻŦā§āϰ āĻ•āĻŖā§āϠ⧇ āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞāĻžāĻŽ, – ‘ āĻ āĻšāϤ⧇āχ āĻšāĻŦ⧇ āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋ, āĻ āĻšāϤ⧇āχ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ›āĻžāĻĄāĻŧāϤ⧇āχ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤â€™ āϤāĻ–āύ āĻāĻ• āĻ…āϜāĻžāύāĻž āĻĻ⧇āĻŦāϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϰ⧁āĻĻā§āϧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŽāĻžāύ⧇ āφāϰ āϤāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϤāϤāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ­āϰ⧇ āωāϠ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āĻ­ā§‚āĻŽāĻŋāϤ⧇ āϞ⧁āϟāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻ•āϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – ‘āĻ“āĻ—ā§‹, āϚāĻŋāϰāĻĻāĻŋāύ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŽā§‡āϰ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇āĻ›, āĻāĻ–āύāĻ“ āĻ•āĻŋ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§‡āϰ⧇ āϏāĻžāϧ āĻŽā§‡āĻŸā§‡āύāĻŋ? āϤāĻŦ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāϰ⧋, āφāϰāĻ“ āĻŽāĻžāϰ⧋ – āϝāϤ āϏāĻžāϧ āĻŽāĻžāϰ⧋āĨ¤â€™ āĻ•āϤ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻ•āϤ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž āĻ•āϤ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āĻ­āϰ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ! āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ⧇āχ āϤ⧀āĻŦā§āϰ āϤ⧀āĻ•ā§āĻˇā§āĻŖ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻŽāĻžāύ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻ ā§‹āϰāϤāĻž āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ•ā§āϰāĻŽā§‡āχ āĻļāĻ•ā§āϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āϤ⧁āϞāϤ⧇ āϞāĻžāĻ—āϞāĨ¤ āĻŽāύ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇ – āϜāϝāĻŧā§€ āĻšāϤ⧇āχ āĻšāĻŦ⧇āĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ•ā§āϰ⧂āϰ āĻšāĻžāϏāĻŋ āĻšā§‡āϏ⧇ āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋāϕ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, ‘āĻšā§āρ! āĻ•āĻŋāϛ⧁āϤ⧇āχ āĻŽāĻžāύāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻž āϤ⧋, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻžāχ āĻŦāϞāĻŋ, – āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋ, āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϝ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŋ āύāĻžāĨ¤â€™ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦ⧁āϕ⧇āχ āĻŦ⧇āĻļāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāϜāϞāĨ¤ āϏ⧇ āϤ⧀āϰāĻŦāĻŋāĻĻā§āϧāĻž āĻšāϰāĻŋāĻŖā§€āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āϚāĻŽāϕ⧇ āωāϠ⧇ āĻŦāϞāϞ⧇, – ‘āϕ⧀?’ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāϞāĻžāĻŽ, – ‘āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻāϤāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻŽāĻŋāĻĨā§āϝāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻžāϰāĻŋāϤ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇āĻ›āĻŋ āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋ, āϕ⧋āύ⧋āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏāĻ¤ā§āϝāĻŋāĻ•āĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŋāύāĻŋāĨ¤â€™ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻŖā§āĻ  āϝ⧇āύ āĻļ⧁āĻ•āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāĻ  āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞāĨ¤ āφāĻšāϤ āĻĢāĻŖāĻŋāύ⧀āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĻā§€āĻĒā§āϤ āϤ⧇āĻœā§‡ āĻĻāĻžāρāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϏ⧇ āĻ—āĻ°ā§āϜāύ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – ‘āϝāĻžāĻ“ āϚāϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“ – āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϚāĻžāχāύ⧇, āϏāϰ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“āĨ¤ āϤ⧁āĻŽāĻŋ āϜāĻ˛ā§āϞāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āĻšā§‡āϝāĻŧ⧇āĻ“ āύāĻŋāĻˇā§āϠ⧁āϰ, āĻŦ⧇-āĻĻāĻŋāϞ ! – āϝāĻžāĻ“, āϏāϰ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“āĨ¤â€Ļ āϤ⧋āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋ āϚāϞ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻ“, āφāϰ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻžāϰ āĻ…āĻĒāĻŽāĻžāύ āϕ⧋āϰ⧋ āύāĻžāĨ¤â€™ āĻĻ⧁-āĻšā§‹āĻ– āĻšāĻžāϤ āĻĻāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϟāĻŋāĻĒ⧇ āĻ•āĻžāϞāĻŦ⧈āĻļāĻžāĻ–ā§€āϰ āωāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āĻāĻžā§āĻāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āωāĻ¨ā§āĻŽāĻžāĻĻ āĻŦ⧇āϗ⧇ āϏ⧇ āϛ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āϗ⧇āϞāĨ¤ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āϟāĻžāϞ āϖ⧇āϝāĻŧ⧇ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻž āϘ⧁āϰ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāϤ⧇ āĻļ⧁āύāϤ⧇ āĻĒ⧇āϞāĻžāĻŽ āφāĻ°ā§āϤ-āĻ—āĻ­ā§€āϰ āφāĻ°ā§āϤāύāĻžāĻĻ⧇āϰ āϏāĻ™ā§āϗ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇-āĻŦāĻžāĻĄāĻŧāĻŋāϰ āĻ›āĻžāϞāύāĻž-āĻŦāĻžāρāϧāĻž āφāĻ™āĻŋāύāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϕ⧇ āĻĻāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāĻŽ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āφāĻ›āĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻĒāĻĄāĻŧ⧇ āĻ—ā§‹āĻ™āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – ‘āĻŽāĻžâ€“āĻ—ā§‹āĨ¤â€™ āĻ“āχ āϝ⧇ āĻ…āύ⧇āĻ• āĻĻā§‚āϰ⧇āϰ āϖ⧇āϝāĻŧāĻž-āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧇ āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻŽāĻžāĻāĻŋāϰ āĻŽā§āϖ⧇ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻļā§āϰāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āϚāĻŋāϰāĻ¨ā§āϤāύ āĻ•āĻžāĻ¨ā§āύāĻžāϟāĻŋ āĻĢ⧁āĻŸā§‡ āωāϠ⧇āϛ⧇, āĻ“ āϝ⧇āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰāχ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻĨāĻž, – āĻŽāύ-āĻŽāĻžāĻāĻŋ āϤ⧋āϰ āĻŦāχāĻ āĻž āύ⧇ āϰ⧇, āφāĻŽāĻŋ āφāϰ āĻŦāĻžāχāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϞāĻžāĻŽ āύāĻžāĨ¤â€™ āĻ“āĻ—ā§‹ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āĻŽāĻžāĻāĻŋ, āφāĻŽāĻžāϰāĻ“ āĻ-āĻ•ā§āϞāĻžāĻ¨ā§āϤāĻŋ-āĻ­āϰāĻž āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ-āϤāϰāĻŋ āφāϰ āϝ⧇ āĻŦāĻžāχāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋ āύ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāχ! āĻāĻ–āύ āφāĻŽāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϕ⧂āϞ āĻĻāĻžāĻ“, āύāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ āϕ⧋āϞ āĻĻāĻžāĻ“! – āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻŦāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āϰāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϞ, āϏ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧāϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻāϞ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϝāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŋ, āϤāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧇ āĻ—āĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āύāĻŋāĻœā§‡āϰ āĻŦ⧁āĻ• āϝ⧇ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻžāϰ āφāϘāĻžāϤ⧇, āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻžāϰ āĻ•āĻžāρāϟāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ•āϤ āĻ›āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āύ-āĻ­āĻŋāĻ¨ā§āύ āϕ⧀āϰāĻ•āĻŽ āĻāĻžāρāĻāϰāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϗ⧇āϛ⧇, āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āϤāĻž āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āϏ⧇ āϜāĻžāύāϤ – āϤāĻž āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻŽā§‹āϤāĻŋ āĻŦ⧁āĻāϤ⧇ āĻĒāĻžāϰāϤāĨ¤ āĻ“āσ āϝāĻžāϕ⧇ āĻ­āĻžāϞ⧋āĻŦāĻžāϏāĻŋ āϏ⧇āĻ“ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϕ⧇ āϭ⧁āϞ āĻŦā§‹āĻā§‡, āϤāĻŦ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāρāϚāĻŋ āϕ⧀ āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇? āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ āϰāĻŋāĻ•ā§āϤ āĻœā§€āĻŦāύ⧇āϰ āϏāĻžāĻ°ā§āĻĨāĻ•āϤāĻž āϕ⧀? āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ, āĻĻ⧁āύāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻŦāĻĄāĻŧā§‹ āĻŦ⧇āĻĻāύāĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻāĻŋ āφāϰ āύ⧇āχāĨ¤ āĻāχ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ—āĻžāρāϝāĻŧ⧇āϰ āφāĻŽāĻŦāĻžāĻ—āĻžāύ⧇ āĻāϏ⧇ āĻĸ⧁āϕ⧇āĻ›āĻŋāĨ¤ āĻ“āχ āϤ⧋ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ-āĻ•āϰāĻž āφāρāϧāĻžāϰ āϘāϰāĨ¤ āϚāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļ⧇ āĻĻā§€āĻĒ-āĻœā§āĻŦāĻžāϞāĻžāύ⧋ āϕ⧋āϞāĻžāĻšāϞ-āĻŽā§āĻ–āϰāĻŋāϤ āĻ¸ā§āύ⧇āĻšāύāĻŋāϕ⧇āϤāύ, āφāϰ āϤāĻžāϰāχ āĻŽāĻžāĻā§‡ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāϜāύ āφāρāϧāĻžāϰ āϕ⧁āϟāĻŋāϰ āϝ⧇āύ āĻāĻ•āϟāĻž āĻŦāĻŋāώāĻŽāĻžāĻ–āĻž āĻ…āĻ­āĻŋāĻļāĻžāĻĒ āĻļ⧇āϞ⧇āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧋ āĻœā§‡āϗ⧇ āϰāϝāĻŧ⧇āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻĻāĻŋāύ⧇āϰ āĻ•āĻžāϜ āĻļ⧇āώ āĻ•āϰ⧇ āĻŦāĻŋāύāĻž-āĻ•āĻžāĻœā§‡āϰ āϏ⧇āĻŦāĻž āĻšāϤ⧇ āĻĢāĻŋāϰ⧇ āϘāϰ⧇ āĻĸ⧁āĻ•āĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽāϝāĻŧ āϰ⧋āϜ āϝ⧇-āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻŋ āĻŽāύ⧇ āĻšāϝāĻŧ, āĻŦāĻ¨ā§āϧ āĻĻ⧁āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ⧇āϰ āϤāĻžāϞāĻž āϖ⧁āϞāϤ⧇ āϖ⧁āϞāϤ⧇ āφāϜāĻ“ āϏ⧇āχ āĻ•āĻĨāĻžāϟāĻŋāχ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧇āϰ āϚāĻŋāϰ āĻŦā§āϝāĻĨāĻžāϰ āĻŦāύ⧇ āĻĻāĻžāĻŦāĻžāύāϞ āĻœā§āĻŦāĻžāϞāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϝāĻžāĻšā§āϛ⧇āĨ¤ āĻāϕ⧇ āĻāϕ⧇ āϏāĻŦ āϘāϰ⧇āχ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĻā§€āĻĒ āĻœā§āĻŦāϞāĻŦ⧇, āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻ•āĻž āϘāϰ⧇āχ āφāϰ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏāĻ¨ā§āĻ§ā§āϝāĻž-āĻĻā§€āĻĒ āĻœā§āĻŦāϞāĻŦ⧇ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏ⧇āχ āĻŽā§āϞāĻžāύ āĻĻā§€āĻĒ-āĻļāĻŋāĻ–āĻžāϟāĻŋāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āφāϏāĻžāϰ āφāĻļāĻžāϝāĻŧ āϕ⧋āύ⧋ āĻ•āĻžāϞ⧋āĻšā§‹āϖ⧇āϰ āĻ•āϰ⧁āĻŖ-āĻ•āĻžāĻŽāύāĻž āĻŦā§āϝāĻžāϕ⧁āϞ āĻšāϝāĻŧ⧇ āϜāĻžāĻ—āĻŦ⧇ āύāĻž! āĻŦāĻžāχāϰ⧇ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻ­āĻžāĻ™āĻž āĻĻāϰāϜāĻžāϝāĻŧ āωāϤāϞ āĻšāĻžāĻ“āϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āĻļ⧁āϧ⧁ āĻāĻ•āϰ⧋āĻ–āĻž āĻŦ⧁āĻ•āϚāĻžāĻĒāĻĄāĻŧāĻžāύāĻŋ āφāϰ āĻ•āĻžāϰāĻŦāĻžāϞāĻž-āĻŽāĻžāϤāĻŽ āϰāĻŖāĻŋāϝāĻŧ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – ‘āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ—ā§ƒāĻšāĻšā§€āύ, āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒāĻĨāĻŦāĻžāϏ⧀, āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ—āϤāĻŋ-āĻšāĻžāϰāĻž!’ āφāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻšāĻŋāϝāĻŧāĻžāϰ āϚāĻŋāϤāĻžāϰ āϚāĻŋāϰāĻ¨ā§āϤāύ⧀ āĻ•ā§āϰāĻ¨ā§āĻĻāϏ⧀āĻ“ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āϏāĻžāĻĨ⧇ āϕ⧇āρāĻĻ⧇ āωāĻ āϞ, – ‘āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ—ā§ƒāĻšāĻšā§€āύ, āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻĒāĻĨāĻŦāĻžāϏ⧀, āĻšāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻ—āϤāĻŋ-āĻšāĻžāϰāĻž!’

# āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒ⧇āϰ āύāĻžāĻŽāσ đŸŒŋāĻ…āϤ⧃āĻĒā§āϤ āĻ•āĻžāĻŽāύāĻžđŸŒŋ

# āϞ⧇āĻ–āĻ•āσ đŸŒŋ āĻŽāĻžāĻšāĻĢ⧁āϜ⧁āϞ āĻšāĻ• āϏāĻŋāĻĢāĻžāϤ đŸŒŋ

*āĻ—āĻ˛ā§āĻĒāϟāĻŋ āϞāĻŋāĻ–āĻž āĻšāχāϛ⧇āσ ā§§ā§­ āϜ⧁āϞāĻžāχ ⧍ā§Ļā§§ā§­ āĻĻ⧁āĻĒ⧁āϰ ā§§āĻƒā§Šā§Ļ āĻŽāĻŋāύāĻŋāϟāĨ¤

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