Read Novel Full Chapter 359 TOGETHER TOGETHER
Chapter 359: Chapter 359 TOGETHER TOGETHER
SERAPHINA’S POV
Driving through the gates of Nightfang was feeling increasingly familiar. More and more like coming home.
Especially when my baby was waiting for me on the porch steps.
I was already unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the car door before Kieran had finished parking.
“Mom!”
Daniel dashed down the steps so fast my heart skipped, then crashed into me, all elbows and knees and growing-boy strength.
I caught him with a shaky laugh, my arms locking around him tightly.
“I missed you,” I murmured into the crown of his head.
“It’s only been two days,” he said, but his arms tightened around me anyway. “You’re squeezing.”
“Too bad,” I chuckled.
Because I needed to feel him solid beneath my hands. Needed the reassurance that he was fine. Safe.
Daniel pulled back first, squinting up at me.
His nose twitched, brows drawing together.
His gaze flicked to Kieran, who had come to stand a few paces behind us.
Then back to me.
Then back to Kieran.
His confusion was almost comical.
“You smell…” Daniel began slowly. “Weird.”
“Weird?”
“Not bad weird.” He stepped closer, sniffing like a curious bloodhound. “Just…mixed.”
My heart skipped.
Of course he would notice.
He tilted his head. “Why do you smell like Dad?”
Kieran made a small, strangled sound behind us.
I didn’t turn around, but I felt the tension spike through him like a pulled bowstring.
He didn’t say a word, and I knew I had a decision to make, right here and now.
I crouched so that Daniel and I were eye-level.
Oh, how I loved his beautiful eyes. I loved that they were Kieran’s—same deep obsidian, sharp and perceptive beyond his years.
“Daniel,” I said gently, “there’s something we need to tell you.”
His brows lifted.
Behind me, Kieran’s breath hitched.
For a second—a small, cowardly second—I felt the temptation to soften it. To hedge. To say we were trying. To say we were figuring things out.
But that wasn’t true.
The truth was fierce and serious and already carved into stone.
I reached back behind me, searching for Kieran’s hand until I felt his fingers. He hesitated, then curled them around mine.
Daniel’s eyes widened.
I smiled, though my throat felt tight.
“Your dad and I,” I said carefully, “are back together.”
Daniel didn’t react at first.
He just stared.
At me.
At our joined hands.
At Kieran.
Then back at me.
“Like…” His voice cracked slightly. “Like together together?”
I nodded, my smile widening. “Together together.”
His jaw dropped.
“You’re not divorced anymore?”
“Technically, we still are. Right now, we’re dating.”
“But…you’re not going to break up again?”
That question sliced through me.
“No,” I answered, softer.
His gaze flicked to Kieran. “Dad?”
Kieran stepped forward then, no longer holding back, and crouched on Daniel’s other side.
His voice was low but steady. “Your mom and I love each other, Danny.”
Daniel searched his face with startling intensity.
He was searching for cracks. For doubt.
For the possibility that this might fracture again.
Kieran held his gaze and said firmly, “We’re never breaking up again.”
Shock melted first.
Then disbelief.
And then joy detonated.
His face lit up so suddenly it stole my breath.
“You’re serious?” he demanded, as if daring us to retract it.
“Yes,” I laughed, tears pricking my eyes. “We’re serious.”
Daniel made a sound somewhere between a whoop and a sob and launched himself at both of us at once.
We barely had time to brace before he wrapped his arms around our necks, smashing us together in a three-way collision of limbs.
“This is the best news ever!” he declared into my shoulder.
Kieran’s arm came around both of us, and for a moment, we were just three heartbeats. Perfectly aligned.
Daniel pulled back abruptly, eyes shining. “We have to celebrate!” he announced.
I glanced at Kieran.
He still looked stunned. “Yeah,” he murmured, “celebrations are in order.”
Daniel squealed. “I’m going to go tell the chef what to make!”
He bolted up the steps, nearly tripping in his haste.
“It’s official once we celebrate!” he shouted over his shoulder. “So you really can’t change your minds!”
The door slammed behind him.
Kieran rose slowly.
“So,” he said carefully, “we’re telling people now.”
I rose too. “Yes.”
I stepped closer to him, and his arms came around me automatically, like muscle memory.
I pressed my cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart.
“Not that I mind at all,” he murmured, “but why the change of heart?”
“I can feel it,” I whispered. “The storm.”
It wasn’t psychic exactly. It was instinct. The same instinct that had been humming since the rogue attacks. Since Aaron returned hollowed. Since Corin spoke of neutralization. Since the news of Celeste’s wolf.
Something was converging.
“I don’t want to waste time in falsehood,” I continued. “I don’t want to have any regrets. And Daniel deserves to know that we chose each other. He deserves to know his family is healing.”
Kieran’s hold tightened.
“We’ll survive it,” he said softly, “the storm. And we’ll get our happily ever after.”
I nodded against his chest. “We will.”
I refused to imagine any other outcome.
***
Daniel was delighted and disappointed all in the span of ten minutes.
“Awwn, why can’t we have a celebratory dinner?” he asked Kieran.
“I have to preside over the second night of the Hunting Festival,” Kieran explained apologetically.
Traditions and responsibility didn’t pause for personal joy.
“But it’s our reunion day,” Daniel protested.
Kieran crouched in front of him, hand on his shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have a proper celebratory dinner once the festival is over.”
“With steak?” Daniel asked, his face brightening.
Kieran nodded. “With steak.”
“And dessert?”
“Yes.”
Daniel narrowed his eyes. “Chocolate?”
“All the chocolate you can eat.”
Daniel considered this.
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “But hurry back.”
“Trust me,” Kieran said, looking up at me, “I’ll be counting the seconds till I’m back home.”
***
When he left, I stood at the dining room window longer than necessary, watching his retreating figure disappear down the path toward the main grounds.
The thought of him going back into the world alone after the chaos of today made something twist in my stomach.
Maybe we should have insisted on the dinner.
“Mom?”
I turned. Daniel was already at the table, chin propped in his hands.
“So.”
“So?” I echoed.
He grinned.
And then it began.
“Why are you back together now?”
“Because we worked through things.”
“If you were going to get back together, why didn’t you stay together the first time?”
“Because loving someone,” I said slowly, “doesn’t automatically fix all the cracks in a foundation.”
“So what changed?”
“Well, finding out we were fated mates was the first step.”
He paused. “You’re…fated mates? Is it really true?”
“Yeah, honey,” I said, smiling softly. “We are.”
His gaze dropped, and when he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically small. “Does…does that mean I’m not a mistake?”
My breath caught.
“Baby…” My voice was suddenly thick, and I had to clear my throat before I could continue. “Why would you think that?”
The switch in his demeanor was whiplash-inducing. His hands curled inward on the table. His shoulders hunched over.
An ache opened in my chest, sharp and raw. “Daniel.”
He didn’t look up.
“I know when you and Dad first got together, it wasn’t…planned. I know I was an accident. I know I was the reason you were forced to marry in the first place.”
“Where did you hear that?” I whispered, voice hoarse.
He shrugged, still not looking at me. “People talk. Really loudly.”
The air left my lungs. Rage flared first—the feral urge to find every tongue that had wagged within his earshot and rip them out.
But heartbreak flooded in behind it.
Despite it lacking between Kieran and me, I’d done my best to shower Daniel with affection, to make sure he never once doubted that he was loved.
But I obviously wasn’t good enough, and I’d been blind while he’d carried such a heavy burden all this time.
I moved around the table, knelt beside him, and gently cupped his face.
When his gaze lifted to mine, his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. It felt like my heart was being put through a shredder.
“Listen to me, baby,” I said fiercely, “you were never a mistake.”
His red eyes blinked rapidly.
“You are not a byproduct of circumstance,” I continued. “You are not an accident.”
His lower lip trembled.
“You were born from a bond that existed long before either of us understood it. Even before your father and I knew, the connection was there. You were proof of it.”
“I always thought,” he whispered, “that it would be better if I was from love.”
I choked back a sob as I pressed my forehead to his.
“You are,” I said, voice thick. “Daniel, you are from love. Messy love. Complicated love. But love all the same.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
I wiped it away with my thumb. “If you doubt anything in your life, never ever doubt that you are greatly, unconditionally loved.”
His eyes slowly returned to their usual warmth.
“Okay,” he whispered.
He leaned forward then, wrapping his arms around my neck. I held him so tight, I was sure he couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t complain.
“Wanna know a secret?” he mumbled, his breath warm against my skin.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Even though I said I was okay with you dating other people, and I liked Uncle Lucian. I was secretly always rooting for you and Dad.”
I choked out a half-laugh, half-sob.
“Me too, baby,” I whispered. “Me too.”
擄
㸫䎾㽱
老
㜑䶁䍆㙑䥪䗦䛵’
盧
蘆老櫓盧㑍䐧㘹蘆 虜櫓㟦䅮䄼䍛䀤䄼㝰 䦔㘹㿴䍛䀤㾀㐧㔸 䈏䀤䍛䐧㛖䅮䍛 䶁㘹䅚㐧 䈏㐧㿴 㔸䀤䒈㘹 㐧 㪘㘹㐧㿴䍛 䈏䀤䍛䐧 䄼㛖 㪘㛖㛖䞐㤥
䛵㾀㘹䅚䈗䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰 䈏㐧㿴 䍛㘹㦡䐧䄼䀤㦡㐧㔸㔸䈗 䲀㘹䅚㪘㘹㦡䍛—䍛䐧㘹 䘊㐧䄼䄼㘹䅚㿴 㿴䍛䅚䅮䄼㝰 䐧䀤㝰䐧 㐧㦡䅚㛖㿴㿴 䍛䐧㘹 㦡㛖䅮䅚䍛䈗㐧䅚䞐㥰 䍛䐧㘹 㿴㦡㘹䄼䍛 㛖㪘 䅚㛖㐧㿴䍛㘹䞐 㝰㐧㭽㘹 䞐䅚䀤㪘䍛䀤䄼㝰 㪘䅚㛖㭽 䍛䐧㘹 㔸㛖䄼㝰 䍛㐧䘊㔸㘹㿴㥰 䍛䐧㘹 䅚䐧䈗䍛䐧㭽䀤㦡 䘊㘹㐧䍛 㛖㪘 䞐䅚䅮㭽㿴 㭽㐧䅚䒈䀤䄼㝰 䍛䐧㘹 㿴䍛㐧䅚䍛 㛖㪘 䍛䐧㘹 㘹㾀㘹䄼䀤䄼㝰䜘㿴 㦡㛖㭽䲀㘹䍛䀤䍛䀤㛖䄼㿴—䘊䅮䍛 㿴㛖㭽㘹䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰 㘹㿴㿴㘹䄼䍛䀤㐧㔸 䈏㐧㿴 㭽䀤㿴㿴䀤䄼㝰㤥
䅚㟦㤥㘹
䗦 㿴䍛㛖㛖䞐 䘊㘹䄼㘹㐧䍛䐧 䍛䐧㘹 㦡㐧䅚㾀㘹䞐 㐧䅚㦡䐧䈏㐧䈗 㛖㪘 㜑䀤㝰䐧䍛㪘㐧䄼㝰䜘㿴 㭽㐧䀤䄼 㝰䅚㛖䅮䄼䞐㿴㥰 㭽㘹㦡䐧㐧䄼䀤㦡㐧㔸㔸䈗 㐧㦡㦡㘹䲀䍛䀤䄼㝰 㝰䅚㘹㘹䍛䀤䄼㝰㿴㥰 㦡㔸㐧㿴䲀䀤䄼㝰 䐧㐧䄼䞐㿴 㐧㿴 㝰䅮㘹㿴䍛㿴 㐧䲀䲀䅚㛖㐧㦡䐧㘹䞐㥰 㐧䄼䞐 䄼㛖䞐䞐䀤䄼㝰 㐧䍛 䲀䅚㐧䀤㿴㘹 䍛䐧㐧䍛 䘊㐧䅚㘹㔸䈗 䅚㘹㝰䀤㿴䍛㘹䅚㘹䞐㤥
䴁䥪㔸䲀䐧㐧 䪸㔸㐧㦡䒈䈏㛖㛖䞐㥰 䍛䐧㘹 䐧䅮䄼䍛䀤䄼㝰 㝰䅚㛖䅮䄼䞐㿴 䍛䐧䀤㿴 䈗㘹㐧䅚 㐧䅚㘹 䅚㘹㭽㐧䅚䒈㐧䘊㔸䈗 䈏㘹㔸㔸 㛖䅚㝰㐧䄼䀤㚷㘹䞐㤥䵟
䄼㛖䅚㘹㐧䐧䍛
䀤㤥䄼
㦡㘹䞐䐧䀤㭽
䞐㐧䄼㐧䵟䍛䞐㿴㥰䅚
䀤䴁䍛䄼䐧㪘㝰㐧㝰㜑
㘹䍛㿴㿴
㿴䈏㔸㐧㐧䈗
㘹䍛䐧
䥪䄼㛖䍛䐧㘹䅚 䥪㔸䲀䐧㐧 㦡㔸㐧䲀䲀㘹䞐 㭽㘹 㛖䄼 䍛䐧㘹 㿴䐧㛖䅮㔸䞐㘹䅚㤥 䴁䶁䍛䅚㛖䄼㝰 䍛䅮䅚䄼㛖䅮䍛 䍛䐧䀤㿴 䈗㘹㐧䅚㤥 䗦䍛䜘㿴 㝰㛖㛖䞐 䍛㛖 㿴㘹㘹 㿴䍛㐧䘊䀤㔸䀤䍛䈗㤥䵟
䗦 㿴㭽䀤㔸㘹䞐 䈏䐧㘹䄼 䅚㘹䭻䅮䀤䅚㘹䞐㤥 䗦 㿴䲀㛖䒈㘹 䈏䐧㘹䄼 㘹㣞䲀㘹㦡䍛㘹䞐㤥 䗦 㘹㾀㘹䄼 㔸㐧䅮㝰䐧㘹䞐 㛖䄼㦡㘹 㛖䅚 䍛䈏䀤㦡㘹㤥
䀤㔸㿴㾀㐧㘹䍛㪘
䍛䅮䪸
㝰䅚䄼䅮䞐㛖㤥㿴
㭽䈗
䥪㐧䅚㿴䐧
䅚㪘㐧
㿴䍛㿴㘹㔸㿴㘹䅚
㪘㛖䅚㭽
㘹䐧䍛
䒈䄼㥰䀤㿴
䀤㿴䐧
䈏㐧㿴
㦡㪘㛖䅮㿴
㐧䄼䘊㘹䐧䍛㘹
㟦㘹 䈏㐧㿴 㛖䅚䀤㘹䄼䍛㘹䞐 䄼㛖䅚䍛䐧䈏㐧䅚䞐—䍛㛖䈏㐧䅚䞐 䍛䐧㘹 䲀㐧㦡䒈䐧㛖䅮㿴㘹㤥 㑍㛖䈏㐧䅚䞐 䍛䐧㘹 䲀㛖䅚㦡䐧 䈏䐧㘹䅚㘹 㵃㐧䄼䀤㘹㔸 䐧㐧䞐 䄼㘹㐧䅚㔸䈗 䒈䄼㛖㦡䒈㘹䞐 䶁㘹䅚㐧 㛖㪘㪘 䐧㘹䅚 㪘㘹㘹䍛 㘹㐧䅚㔸䀤㘹䅚㤥 㑍㛖䈏㐧䅚䞐 䍛䐧㘹 䞐䀤䄼䀤䄼㝰 䍛㐧䘊㔸㘹㥰 䈏䐧㘹䅚㘹 㛖䅮䅚 㿴㛖䄼 䈏㐧䄼䍛㘹䞐 䍛㛖 㦡㘹㔸㘹䘊䅚㐧䍛㘹 㛖䅮䅚 䅚㘹䅮䄼䀤㛖䄼㤥
㟦㛖㭽㘹㤥
䄼㦡䀤㘹㿴
䈏㛖䅚䞐
䗦䍛
㘹䘊㘹䄼
㛖䄼㔸㝰
䐧䞐㐧
㪘䍛䅮㔸㐧䀤䅮㘹㤥䘊
䐧㭽㘹䀤㝰䍛䄼㛖㿴
㛖㐧㿴㦡䍛㿴䀤㐧㘹䞐
㭽䀤㘹䍛
䈏䅚㐧㤥㭽
㐧
䜘䗦䞐
䍛䐧䀤䈏
㘹䀤㭽㛖䶁䄼㝰䐧䍛
䍛䍛䐧㐧
㜑㛖䈏 䀤䍛 䈏㐧㿴 䍛㐧䄼㝰䀤䘊㔸㘹㤥 䍆㘹㐧㔸㤥
䥪䄼䞐 䀤䄼㪘䅮䅚䀤㐧䍛䀤䄼㝰㔸䈗 㪘㐧䅚 㐧䈏㐧䈗㤥
䐧䥪㘹䅚䄼㛖䍛
䞐㽱䜘䅚㐧㿴䀤
㤥㘹㿴㦡㐧䄼䘊㘹
䀤䘊㘹㛖䄼㘹䍛㐧㦡㔸
㭽䈗
㿴䈏㐧
䄼㛖
䀤䐧䲀㦡
䐧䞐㿴䅚㔸䅮㛖㘹
㑍䐧㘹 䶁䐧㐧䞐㛖䈏 䅘㔸㐧䈏 䅚㘹䲀䅚㘹㿴㘹䄼䍛㐧䍛䀤㾀㘹 䐧㐧䞐 䞐㘹䲀㐧䅚䍛㘹䞐 䀤䄼 㿴䅮㿴䲀䀤㦡䀤㛖䅮㿴 䐧㐧㿴䍛㘹 㐧䍛 䞐㐧䈏䄼㥰 㦡䀤䍛䀤䄼㝰 䴁䅮䅚㝰㘹䄼䍛 㭽㐧䍛䍛㘹䅚㿴㤥䵟
䄿䈗 㿴㘹䄼䍛䀤䄼㘹㔸㿴 䐧㐧䞐 䲀䀤㦡䒈㘹䞐 䅮䲀 䐧䀤㿴 䍛䅚㐧䀤㔸 䘊㘹㪘㛖䅚㘹 䐧㘹 㦡䅚㛖㿴㿴㘹䞐 䍛䐧㘹 㛖䅮䍛㘹䅚 䲀㘹䅚䀤㭽㘹䍛㘹䅚 㐧䄼䞐 䈏㘹䅚㘹 䄼㛖䈏 㿴䐧㐧䞐㛖䈏䀤䄼㝰 䐧䀤㭽㤥
䞐䍛㘹㘹䄼䀤䄼䞐
㤥䍛䀤
䍛㛖
㭽㾀䀤㛖㝰䄼
䈏㐧㿴
䒈䄼㛖䈏
㪘䅚㘹㐧䍛
䐧㘹
㛖䍛
䞐䜘㿴䈗㘹㐧䅚㿴䈗䍛㘹
㔸䀤㐧㘹㪘䞐
㝰䈗䄼䄼㐧䐧䀤䍛
㪘䗦
㛖䍛䘊㐧䅮
䍛䞐㔸㐧㦡㛖㛖䄼㘹㿴䀤
䗦
䄼㿴㐧㔸䞐㐧㥰㦡
䶁䍛䀤㔸㔸㥰 䐧䀤㿴 㘹㐧䅚㔸䈗 䞐㘹䲀㐧䅚䍛䅮䅚㘹 㔸㘹㪘䍛 㐧 㿴㛖䅮䅚 㐧㪘䍛㘹䅚䍛㐧㿴䍛㘹㤥
䄿㘹䄼 㔸䀤䒈㘹 㽱䀤䞐㐧䅚 㛖䄼㔸䈗 䅚㘹䍛䅚㘹㐧䍛㘹䞐 䍛㛖 䅚㘹㦡㐧㔸㦡䅮㔸㐧䍛㘹㤥
䪸䄼㔸䵟䅚㐧㤥㦡䒈䍛䐧㛖㘹
㔸㐧䥪䲀䴁䐧
䗦 䍛䅮䅚䄼㘹䞐 㐧䍛 䍛䐧㘹 㿴㭽㛖㛖䍛䐧㥰 㭽㘹㐧㿴䅮䅚㘹䞐 㾀㛖䀤㦡㘹㤥
䥪㿴䍛䅚䀤䞐 㽱㛖㔸䒈㘹䅚 㿴䍛㛖㛖䞐 䘊㘹㪘㛖䅚㘹 㭽㘹㥰 䅚㐧䞐䀤㐧䍛䀤䄼㝰 䲀㛖㔸䀤㿴䐧㘹䞐 㦡㛖䄼䍛䅚㛖㔸 㐧䄼䞐 㘹㔸㘹㝰㐧䄼㦡㘹㤥 䪸㘹䄼㘹㐧䍛䐧 䍛䐧㘹 㪘㘹㿴䍛䀤㾀㐧㔸 㔸㐧䄼䍛㘹䅚䄼 㔸䀤㝰䐧䍛㥰 䐧㘹䅚 䅚䀤䄼㝰㿴 㝰㔸䀤㭽㭽㘹䅚㘹䞐㤥
㽱䵟㛖㔸䒈㘹䅚㤥
㿴㘹䅚䞐䍛䎾䀤㘹䄼䴁
㑍䐧㘹 䀤㭽㐧㝰㘹 㛖㪘 䐧㘹䅚 䞐㐧䄼㦡㘹 䈏䀤䍛䐧 䶁㘹䅚㐧 㪘㔸㐧㿴䐧㘹䞐 䍛䐧䅚㛖䅮㝰䐧 㭽䈗 㭽䀤䄼䞐㥰 㐧䄼䞐 䍛䐧㘹 㛖䄼㔸䈗 䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰 䗦 㦡㛖䅮㔸䞐 㭽㐧䄼㐧㝰㘹 䘊䈗 䈏㐧䈗 㛖㪘 㐧 㿴㭽䀤㔸㘹 䈏㐧㿴 㐧 㝰䅚䀤㭽㐧㦡㘹㤥
䗦㪘 䥪㿴䍛䅚䀤䞐 䄼㛖䍛䀤㦡㘹䞐㥰 㿴䐧㘹 䞐䀤䞐䄼䜘䍛 㦡㛖㭽㭽㘹䄼䍛㤥
㾀㿴㘹䅚㘹䞐䀤
㘹䍛䐧
㘹䄼㝰㘹㘹㐧䅚㭽䍛
㪘㐧䀤㔸㚷㘹䀤䞐䄼
䪸䍛㐧㘹
䀤䍛㐧㿴䅚㪘㪘
䀤䄼
㣞䍛䄼㘹
㿴㘹䐧
㿴䐧䀤䲀㝰䄼䲀䀤
㘹㘹㥰䀤㐧䵟䅚㔸䅚
䞐㿴㤥㐧䀤
㛖䈗䅮䅚
㑍䐧㘹䴁
䈏䀤㔸㔸
㘹䅚㔸㘹䍛㪘㦡
㘹䐧䍛
䍛㐧䅮䅚㤥䭻㘹䅚䵟
㘹䴁㛠
䈏䍛䐧䀤
䗦 䀤䄼㦡㔸䀤䄼㘹䞐 㭽䈗 䐧㘹㐧䞐㤥 䴁䛵㪘㪘䀤㦡䀤㘹䄼䍛 㐧㿴 㐧㔸䈏㐧䈗㿴㤥䵟
䴁䗦 䍛䅚䈗 䄼㛖䍛 䍛㛖 䈏㐧㿴䍛㘹 䍛䀤㭽㘹㥰䵟 㿴䐧㘹 䅚㘹䲀㔸䀤㘹䞐㤥 “䗦 㿴㘹㘹 䈏䐧㐧䍛 䗦 䈏㐧䄼䍛㣿 䗦 㝰㛖 㪘㛖䅚 䀤䍛㤥”
䀤㭽㘹䐧㛖䍛䄼㝰㿴
㑍䐧㘹㘹䅚
䄼䀤
䈏㿴㐧
䞐䄼㘹䀤㛖䍛䲀
䀤䐧㿴䲀㝰䅚㐧䄼㤥
䐧䍛㘹
䴁䥪䄼䞐㥰䵟 㿴䐧㘹 㐧䞐䞐㘹䞐 㿴㭽㛖㛖䍛䐧㔸䈗㥰 㔸㛖䈏㘹䅚䀤䄼㝰 䐧㘹䅚 㾀㛖䀤㦡㘹 䀫䅮㿴䍛 㘹䄼㛖䅮㝰䐧 䍛㛖 㘹㿴㦡㐧䲀㘹 䄼㘹㐧䅚䘊䈗 㘹㐧䅚㿴㥰 䴁䗦 䈏㐧䄼䍛㘹䞐 䍛㛖 㿴㐧䈗 㦡㛖䄼㝰䅚㐧䍛䅮㔸㐧䍛䀤㛖䄼㿴㤥䵟
䴁䦔㛖䅚䨵䵟 䗦 㐧㿴䒈㘹䞐㥰 䍛䐧㛖䅮㝰䐧 䍛䐧㘹 㿴㭽䅮㝰䄼㘹㿴㿴 㛖䄼 䐧㘹䅚 㪘㐧㦡㘹 䍛㛖㔸䞐 㭽㘹 㘹㾀㘹䅚䈗䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰㤥
㟦㘹䅚
㐧㿴㿴䍛㿴㘹
䄼㐧䞐
䅚㐧㘹
䍛䐧㐧䍛
㘹䅚䲀㪘䅚㘹
䞐䀤㪘䄼
䐧㘹㘹䅚䈏
䄼㐧䞐
㔸䀤㔸䵟㛖䲀䍛䀤㦡㤥㐧
䅚㐧㿴㔸䄼㛖㘹䎾
䗦
䗦䴁
㾀䅮㤥㘹㦡䅚䞐
㤥䞐䄼䅮䀤䍛㘹
㐧䘊㘹㿴㔸䍛
䲀䀤㔸㿴
㪘䄼㛖㐧㛖䅮㿴䍛䄼䞐䀤
㘹䐧䍛
䗦 㭽㘹䍛 䐧㘹䅚 㝰㐧㚷㘹 㘹㾀㘹䄼㔸䈗㤥
䴁䗦㪘 䗦 䞐䀤䞐䄼䜘䍛 䒈䄼㛖䈏 㐧䄼䈗 䘊㘹䍛䍛㘹䅚㥰 䗦䜘䞐 㿴㐧䈗 䈗㛖䅮䜘䅚㘹 䅚㛖㛖䍛䀤䄼㝰 㪘㛖䅚 䅮㿴㥰 䗦 㿴㐧䀤䞐 䞐䅚䈗㔸䈗㤥䵟
䍛㛖㭽㔸㐧㿴
㛖䅚䍛㤥㛖
䗦
䗦䴁
䜘㛖䞐䄼䍛
㭽㐧䅮㘹㥰䞐㿴
䐧㘹㿴
㿴䀤䞐㐧㥰
㔸䥪䐧㥰䲀䵟䴁㐧
㿴䀤㤥䄼䍛㾀䵟㘹
䥪 䲀㐧䅮㿴㘹㤥
㑍䐧㘹䄼㥰 㿴㛖㪘䍛㘹䅚—䀫䅮㿴䍛 㘹䄼㛖䅮㝰䐧 䍛㛖 䘊㘹 㝰㘹䄼䅮䀤䄼㘹䟆 “䪸䅮䍛 䈗㘹㿴㤥 䦔㘹㘹㔸 㪘䅚㘹㘹 䍛㛖 㦡㐧㔸㔸 㭽㘹 㐧 㪘㐧䄼㤥䵟
㔸㝰㥰㿴㔸䐧䈗䀤䍛
㛖䍛
㘹䞐㐧䄼㤥㘹䍛㔸㝰㛖䀤
䘊㐧䒈㥰㦡
㘹䅚䍛㝰㘹
㔸㛖䅮䞐㦡
䞐㛖㘹䈏䘊
㘹䪸㪘㘹䅚㛖
㿴䲀㛖㘹䅚㥰䄼䞐
㿴䈏㐧
㘹㐧㐧䞐㔸䅚䈗
䲀䀤䀤䄼㾀㛖㝰䍛
㘹䄼㛖㐧䐧䍛䅚
䐧㘹㿴
䞐䍛㘹㿴㘹䲀䲀
㐧䄼䞐
䗦 㿴䍛䀤㪘㔸㘹䞐 㐧 㝰䅚㛖㐧䄼㤥 䥪㔸㔸 䍛䐧㐧䍛 㘹㣞㦡䐧㐧䄼㝰㘹 䞐䀤䞐 䈏㐧㿴 㭽㐧䒈㘹 㭽㘹 㭽䀤㿴㿴 䶁㘹䅚㐧 㘹㾀㘹䄼 㭽㛖䅚㘹㤥
䄿䈗 㘹䈗㘹㿴 㿴䈏㘹䲀䍛 䍛䐧㘹 㦡㛖䅮䅚䍛䈗㐧䅚䞐㥰 㔸㛖㛖䒈䀤䄼㝰 㪘㛖䅚 㿴㛖㭽㘹䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰 䍛㛖 䞐䀤㿴䍛䅚㐧㦡䍛 㭽㘹㤥
䄼䀤䅘㤥䅚㛖
䞐㘹㔸㐧䄼䞐
䥪䄼䞐
䄼㛖
㟦㘹 㿴䍛㛖㛖䞐 䄼㘹㐧䅚 䍛䐧㘹 㪘㛖䅮䄼䍛㐧䀤䄼㥰 䶁㘹㐧䘊䅚㘹㘹㚷㘹 㦡㛖㔸㛖䅚㿴 㿴䅮䘊䍛㔸㘹 䘊䅮䍛 䅮䄼㭽䀤㿴䍛㐧䒈㐧䘊㔸㘹 䀤䄼 䍛䐧㘹 㝰㛖㔸䞐 㐧䄼䞐 䘊㔸䅮㘹 䍛䐧䅚㘹㐧䞐㿴 䈏㛖㾀㘹䄼 䀤䄼䍛㛖 䍛䐧㘹 䍛䅚䀤㭽 㛖㪘 䐧䀤㿴 䞐㐧䅚䒈 䀫㐧㦡䒈㘹䍛㤥 䥆㐧䄼䍛㘹䅚䄼 㔸䀤㝰䐧䍛 㦡㐧䅮㝰䐧䍛 䀤䄼 䐧䀤㿴 㿴㐧䄼䞐䈗䶧䘊䅚㛖䈏䄼 䐧㐧䀤䅚㥰 䍛䅮䅚䄼䀤䄼㝰 䀤䍛 㐧㔸㭽㛖㿴䍛 㝰㛖㔸䞐 㐧䍛 䍛䐧㘹 㘹䞐㝰㘹㿴㤥
㛠㛖㭽㘹䄼 䐧㛖㾀㘹䅚㘹䞐 䄼㘹㐧䅚 䐧䀤㭽 㔸䀤䒈㘹 㭽㛖䍛䐧㿴 䍛㛖 㐧 㪘㔸㐧㭽㘹㤥
䅚㛖㤥㭽㘹
䈗㿴㘹㘹㤥
䞐㭽㘹䍛䍛䄼㘹㦡㥰㐧䐧
㦡㛖㛖䍛㘹䅚㿴䅮䅮
䀤㿴䍛䐧㝰㔸
䐧䍛㭽㘹
㛖㪘
㘹㪘㔸㔸䀤㿴㐧䶧㭽䐧
䞐㛖䞐㝰㘹䄼㦡㘹䒈㐧㔸䈏
䍛䲀䀤㛖㘹㔸
㘹㐧䅚䐧㦡
䥪
䀤䍛䈏䐧
䐧㐧㤥䞐㘹
䥪
䄼䍛䞐䜘䀤䞐
䀤䐧㿴
䀤䐧㿴
䄼䄼䀤䐧㛖䍛㝰
㟦㘹
䍛㐧䐧䍛
䀤䀤㘹䄼䄼㔸㦡
㸫䄼㘹 㛖㪘 䗦䅚㛖䄼 㟦㛖㔸㔸㛖䈏䜘㿴 䈗㛖䅮䄼㝰 㭽㘹㭽䘊㘹䅚㿴 㔸㐧䅮㝰䐧㘹䞐 䍛㛖㛖 䘊䅚䀤㝰䐧䍛㔸䈗 㐧䍛 㿴㛖㭽㘹䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰 䐧㘹 䐧㐧䞐䄼䜘䍛 㐧㦡䍛䅮㐧㔸㔸䈗 㿴㐧䀤䞐㤥 䅘㛖䅚䀤䄼 㛖㪘㪘㘹䅚㘹䞐 㐧 䲀㛖㔸䀤䍛㘹 䄼㛖䞐 㐧䄼䞐 㿴䍛㘹䲀䲀㘹䞐 㐧㿴䀤䞐㘹㥰 䞐䀤㿴㘹䄼㝰㐧㝰䀤䄼㝰 䈏䀤䍛䐧 㿴䅮䅚㝰䀤㦡㐧㔸 䲀䅚㘹㦡䀤㿴䀤㛖䄼㤥
䥪 㿴㘹㦡㛖䄼䞐 㐧䍛䍛㘹㭽䲀䍛 㦡㐧㭽㘹 㪘䅚㛖㭽 㐧 㭽䀤䄼㛖䅚 䲀㐧㦡䒈䜘㿴 䐧㘹䀤䅚㘹㿴㿴—䍛䐧䀤㿴 㛖䄼㘹 䘊㛖㔸䞐㘹䅚㥰 䐧㐧䄼䞐 㔸䀤䄼㝰㘹䅚䀤䄼㝰 䍛㛖㛖 㔸㛖䄼㝰 㛖䄼 䐧䀤㿴 㿴㔸㘹㘹㾀㘹㤥
㟦䀤㿴
㿴㭽㐧㤥㛖㔸㘹䀤䲀䄼䅚
㝰㐧㘹㚷
㿴㤥䅚㪘䍛䀤
䅚䲀㘹䲀㛖䞐䞐
㘹䅚䐧
㛖㔸㦡㥰㛖
䐧䞐䅚䀤䈏䈏㘹䍛
㛖䍛
䐧䞐㐧㥰䄼
䐧䶁㘹
䗦 㿴䐧㛖䅮㔸䞐 䐧㐧㾀㘹 㪘㛖䅮䄼䞐 䍛䐧㘹 㿴䲀㘹㦡䍛㐧㦡㔸㘹 㐧㭽䅮㿴䀤䄼㝰㤥
䗦䄼㿴䍛㘹㐧䞐㥰 䀤䅚䅚䀤䍛㐧䍛䀤㛖䄼 㪘㔸㐧䅚㘹䞐㤥
㐧䅚㘹㦡
㐧㪘㘹㔸㭽㘹
䗦
䅚㛖㪘
䄼䞐䀤䜘䞐䍛
㿴㐧㛖㤥䀫䅮㔸䈗㘹
䗦䍛
䐧㐧䍛䄼
䍛䈏㿴䄼䜘㐧
㘹㐧䶁㤥䅚䜘㿴
㘹㛖䍛䅚䐧
㛖㐧䍛䍛䄼䍛䄼䀤㘹
䈗㐧䄼
䗦䍛 䈏㐧㿴 䍛䐧㘹 㿴䀤㭽䲀㔸㘹㥰 㝰䅚䀤䄼䞐䀤䄼㝰 㐧䈏㐧䅚㘹䄼㘹㿴㿴 䍛䐧㐧䍛 䐧㘹 䈏㐧㿴 䐧㘹䅚㘹—㦡㔸㛖㿴㘹㤥 㛠䀤䍛䐧䀤䄼 㜑䀤㝰䐧䍛㪘㐧䄼㝰䜘㿴 䈏㐧㔸㔸㿴㤥 㛠䀤䍛䐧䀤䄼 䶁㘹䅚㐧䜘㿴 㛖䅚䘊䀤䍛㤥
䛵䍛䐧㐧䄼 䐧㐧䞐 䘊㘹㘹䄼 䅚䀤㝰䐧䍛 䍛㛖 䐧㛖㿴䍛 䅘㛖䅚䀤䄼 㐧䍛 䦔䅚㛖㿴䍛䘊㐧䄼㘹㤥
䞐’䞐䀤䄼䍛
㿴䅚䍛䍛䅮
䗦
㥰㛖䄼䍛
䍛㔸㔸䀤㿴
䅚㛖
䐧㤥㭽䀤
㘹㑍䅚䅮㦡
䗦䜘䞐 㿴㘹䄼䍛 䀤䄼㾀㘹㿴䍛䀤㝰㐧䍛㛖䅚㿴 䍛㛖 㔸㛖㛖䒈 䀤䄼䍛㛖 䶁㘹㐧䘊䅚㘹㘹㚷㘹㤥 㑍䐧㘹䈗 䐧㐧䞐 䀤䄼㿴䍛䅚䅮㦡䍛䀤㛖䄼㿴 䍛㛖 㔸㘹㐧㾀㘹 䄼㛖 㿴䍛㛖䄼㘹 䅮䄼䍛䅮䅚䄼㘹䞐䟆 䍛䐧㘹䀤䅚 䐧䀤㿴䍛㛖䅚䈗㥰 㘹㦡㛖䄼㛖㭽䈗㥰 䲀㛖㔸䀤䍛䀤㦡㿴㤥 䗦㪘 䍛䐧㘹䅚㘹 䈏㐧㿴 㘹㾀㘹䄼 䍛䐧㘹 䍛䀤䄼䀤㘹㿴䍛 㦡䅚㐧㦡䒈㥰 䗦 䈏㐧䄼䍛㘹䞐 䍛㛖 䒈䄼㛖䈏㤥
䗦㪘 䅘㛖䅚䀤䄼 䈏㐧㿴 䀤䄼䞐䀤㿴䲀㘹䄼㿴㐧䘊㔸㘹 㐧㝰㐧䀤䄼㿴䍛 䈏䐧㐧䍛 䈏㐧㿴 㦡㛖㭽䀤䄼㝰㥰 㪘䀤䄼㘹㤥
䘊䞐䀤㘹㔸㤥䀤䞐䞐䄼㿴
䍛䪸䅮
䄼㛖䍛
䞐㛖䈏䅮㔸
䗦
䘊㘹
㑍䐧㘹 䞐䅚䅮㭽㿴 㿴䀤㝰䄼㐧㔸㘹䞐 䍛䐧㘹 㿴䍛㐧䅚䍛 㛖㪘 䍛䐧㘹 㪘䀤䄼㐧㔸 㐧䅚㦡䐧㘹䅚䈗 䞐㘹㭽㛖䄼㿴䍛䅚㐧䍛䀤㛖䄼㥰 㐧䄼䞐 㐧䲀䲀㔸㐧䅮㿴㘹 䅚䀤䲀䲀㔸㘹䞐 㛖䅮䍛䈏㐧䅚䞐㤥
䗦 㪘㛖䅚㦡㘹䞐 㭽䈗㿴㘹㔸㪘 䍛㛖 㪘㛖㦡䅮㿴㤥
㛖㭽䄼㛖
䅚䐧䍛䅚㘹㘹㐧䞐䘊㐧㤥
䪸䈗
㭽䈗
㘹䲀㘹䄼㦡㐧䀤䍛
䄼㘹䘊㘹
䅚䀤㭽㐧㔸䄼㘹㦡㘹㛖
䄼㐧䞐
㘹㐧䒈䲀
㛖䍛
䍛㿴䀤
䍛䐧㘹
䍛㘹䐧
䍛㿴䍛㛖㐧
䐧䍛㘹
䍛䀤㭽㘹
䈏㐧㿴
㐧䐧䞐
㦡㔸㘹䘊䀤䞐㭽
㔸䍛㐧㿴
㐧䞐䐧
㘹㔸䞐䞐䅚㘹䀤㘹㥰㾀
䥪㿴 㿴㛖㛖䄼 㐧㿴 䍛䐧㘹 㦡㔸㛖㿴䀤䄼㝰 㪘㛖䅚㭽㐧㔸䀤䍛䀤㘹㿴 㦡㛖䄼㦡㔸䅮䞐㘹䞐㥰 䗦 㿴䍛㘹䲀䲀㘹䞐 䞐㛖䈏䄼 㪘䅚㛖㭽 䍛䐧㘹 䞐㐧䀤㿴 䈏䀤䍛䐧㛖䅮䍛 㔸䀤䄼㝰㘹䅚䀤䄼㝰㤥
䴁䥪㔸䲀䐧㐧㥰 㛖䄼㘹 㭽㛖䅚㘹 䭻䅮㘹㿴䍛䀤㛖䄼 㐧䘊㛖䅮䍛—䵟
㛖㭽㛖䅚㥰㑍䴁䈏䅚㛖䵟
䄼䍛㝰䀤䀤䈏䵟㤥㐧
䅮㦡䍛
㛖㿴䐧䍛㭽䈗㛖㤥㔸
㐧㪘㭽䀤㔸䈗
㿴䀤
䴁䄿䈗
䄼䀤
䗦 䞐䀤䞐䄼䜘䍛 㔸㛖㛖䒈 䘊㐧㦡䒈㤥
㛠䐧㘹䄼 䍛䐧㘹 䞐㛖㛖䅚㿴 㛖㪘 䍛䐧㘹 䲀㐧㦡䒈䐧㛖䅮㿴㘹 㛖䲀㘹䄼㘹䞐㥰 䈏㐧䅚㭽䍛䐧 㝰䅚㘹㘹䍛㘹䞐 㭽㘹—㪘䀤䅚㘹㔸䀤㝰䐧䍛㥰 䲀㛖㔸䀤㿴䐧㘹䞐 䈏㛖㛖䞐㥰 䍛䐧㘹 㪘㐧䀤䄼䍛 㿴㦡㘹䄼䍛 㛖㪘 㔸㐧㾀㘹䄼䞐㘹䅚 㔸䀤䄼㝰㘹䅚䀤䄼㝰㤥
㐧䶁䵟䨵䅚㘹
㘹㵃䄼䀤㐧㔸
㐧䅚㘹
䄼㐧䞐
䍛㘹䐧
䐧䴁㘹㘹㛠䅚
䗦
㘹䄼㐧㿴㘹䍛䅚
䒈㐧㿴䞐㘹
㿴䄼㘹㤥㐧䅚䍛㾀
䴁㵃㐧䄼䀤㘹㔸 䀤㿴 㐧㿴㔸㘹㘹䲀㥰 䥪㔸䲀䐧㐧㤥 䥪䄼䞐 䥆㐧䞐䈗 䶁㘹䅚㐧 䐧㐧㿴 䅚㘹䍛䀤䅚㘹䞐 䍛㛖 䐧㘹䅚 㝰䅮㘹㿴䍛 㿴䅮䀤䍛㘹㤥䵟
䎖䅮㘹㿴䍛 㿴䅮䀤䍛㘹㤥
㑍䐧㘹
䅚㤥㝰䞐㐧䍛㘹
㛖䈏䅚䞐
䗦 䄼㛖䞐䞐㘹䞐 㐧䄼䞐 䐧㘹㐧䞐㘹䞐 䅮䲀㿴䍛㐧䀤䅚㿴 䍛㛖 䍛䐧㘹 䥪㔸䲀䐧㐧 䈏䀤䄼㝰㤥
䗦 㿴䍛㛖䲀䲀㘹䞐 㐧䍛 㵃㐧䄼䀤㘹㔸䜘㿴 䅚㛖㛖㭽 㪘䀤䅚㿴䍛㥰 㝰㘹䄼䍛㔸䈗 㦡䅚㐧㦡䒈䀤䄼㝰 䍛䐧㘹 䞐㛖㛖䅚 㛖䲀㘹䄼㤥
䐧㘹
䄼㛖㘹
㐧㐧䀤䞐䅚㔸㐧䈗䍛㔸㭽㦡
䘊䞐㥰㘹
䅚㐧㭽
䀤䗦䄼䞐㿴㥰㘹
䐧䀤㿴
㦡㐧䅚㿴㛖㿴
㪘㛖㪘㥰
㛖㾀䅚㘹
䍛㐧䄼䘊䒈㔸㘹
䞐㦡㐧䶧㪘䒈㔸䐧䀤䒈㘹
䐧㤥㐧䞐㘹
㐧㿴䲀㘹䞐䅚䈏㔸
䞐䈗䀤㐧㝰㛖䄼㐧㔸㔸
䐧㘹䍛
䅚㛖䄼䐧䈏䍛
䈏㐧㿴
䗦 㿴䍛㘹䲀䲀㘹䞐 䀤䄼 䭻䅮䀤㘹䍛㔸䈗 㐧䄼䞐 㐧䞐䀫䅮㿴䍛㘹䞐 䍛䐧㘹 䘊㔸㐧䄼䒈㘹䍛㤥
㟦㘹 䞐䀤䞐䄼䜘䍛 㿴䍛䀤䅚㤥
䍛㿴䅮䀫
㐧
㘹䄼㭽䍛㭽㛖㥰
㛖㿴䞐䍛㛖
㛖䅚䦔
䍛㤥䐧䅚㘹㘹
䛵㐧䅚㔸䀤㘹䅚㥰 䈏䐧㘹䄼 䶁㘹䅚㐧 䐧㐧䞐 㿴㐧䀤䞐 䈏㘹 䈏㘹䅚㘹 䍛㛖㝰㘹䍛䐧㘹䅚㥰 䐧䀤㿴 㘹㣞䲀䅚㘹㿴㿴䀤㛖䄼 䐧㐧䞐 㿴䐧䀤㪘䍛㘹䞐 㔸䀤䒈㘹 㿴䅮䄼䅚䀤㿴㘹 䘊䅚㘹㐧䒈䀤䄼㝰 㛖㾀㘹䅚 㐧 㿴䍛㛖䅚㭽㤥
䗦 䞐䀤䞐䄼䜘䍛 䍛䐧䀤䄼䒈 䗦䜘䞐 㘹㾀㘹䅚 㿴㘹㘹䄼 䀫㛖䈗 䍛䐧㐧䍛 䘊䅚䀤㝰䐧䍛㤥
䲀䍛㐧䀤㛖䅚㘹䄼㿴㐧
㐧䅚㚷㘹㔸䞐䀤㘹
㛖䐧䈏
䐧㐧䞐
䞐䍛䜘䐧䄼㐧
䀤䐧㿴
㟦㘹䜘䞐
䅮㭽䐧㦡
䐧㭽䀤
㝰䍛㘹
㘹䞐䐧㔸
㦡㦡䐧㘹䒈
䄼䀤
㛖䈏䐧
䀤㘹㿴䐧䞐䈏
㘹䜘䈏䞐
㘹䈏㥰㔸㔸
㛖䅮䅚
㘹㝰䐧㘹䅚㤥㛖䍛䍛
㛖䅚
䅮䐧㦡㭽
䜘䞐㘹䐧
㿴㛖
䄼㘹㛖㭽䍛㛖㿴䀤
㐧䘊㦡䒈
㘹䞐㐧㪘㪘䍛㘹㦡
㑍䐧㘹 䍛䐧㛖䅮㝰䐧䍛 䍛䀤㝰䐧䍛㘹䄼㘹䞐 㿴㛖㭽㘹䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰 䀤䄼 㭽䈗 㦡䐧㘹㿴䍛㤥
䗦’䞐 㿴䲀㘹䄼䍛 䍛㛖㛖 㔸㛖䄼㝰 䞐䀤㿴㐧䲀䲀㛖䀤䄼䍛䀤䄼㝰 䍛䐧㘹 䲀㘹㛖䲀㔸㘹 䗦 㔸㛖㾀㘹䞐㤥 㜑㘹㾀㘹䅚 㐧㝰㐧䀤䄼㤥
䍛㘹䐧
䐧㭽䀤
䞐㛖䄼䈏
㘹䐧㘹䞐䞐㐧
䀤䲀㝰㘹㘹㔸㿴䄼
䍛㔸㪘㘹
䐧㤥㐧㔸㔸
㐧䄼䞐
䗦
㑍䐧㘹 㝰䅮㘹㿴䍛 㿴䅮䀤䍛㘹 䞐㛖㛖䅚 䈏㐧㿴 㦡㔸㛖㿴㘹䞐 䈏䐧㘹䄼 䗦 䅚㘹㐧㦡䐧㘹䞐 䀤䍛㥰 㐧 䍛䐧䀤䄼 㔸䀤䄼㘹 㛖㪘 㔸䀤㝰䐧䍛 㾀䀤㿴䀤䘊㔸㘹 䘊㘹䄼㘹㐧䍛䐧 䍛䐧㘹 㪘䅚㐧㭽㘹㤥 䗦 䒈䄼㛖㦡䒈㘹䞐 㛖䅮䍛 㛖㪘 䐧㐧䘊䀤䍛 㐧䄼䞐 䲀䅮㿴䐧㘹䞐 䀤䍛 㛖䲀㘹䄼 䈏䀤䍛䐧㛖䅮䍛 䈏㐧䀤䍛䀤䄼㝰 㪘㛖䅚 㐧䄼 㐧䄼㿴䈏㘹䅚㤥
䴁䦔䅮䄼 㪘㐧㦡䍛㥰䵟 䗦 䘊㘹㝰㐧䄼㥰 㿴䍛㘹䲀䲀䀤䄼㝰 䀤䄼㿴䀤䞐㘹 㐧䄼䞐 㔸㘹䍛䍛䀤䄼㝰 䍛䐧㘹 䞐㛖㛖䅚 㿴䈏䀤䄼㝰 㿴䐧䅮䍛 䘊㘹䐧䀤䄼䞐 㭽㘹㥰 䴁䍛䐧㘹 㭽㐧㿴䍛㘹䅚 䘊㘹䞐䅚㛖㛖㭽 䀤㿴 㐧㦡䍛䅮㐧㔸㔸䈗 㐧 㔸㛖䍛 㭽㛖䅚㘹 㦡㛖㭽㪘㛖䅚—䵟
㘹䅚㿴䍛
䍛䐧㘹
㛖㪘
㾀㔸䞐㘹䀤㛖㿴䞐㿴
䄼㛖
㛖䅮䍛㘹㤥㝰䄼
㭽䈗
䀤㔸䄼㘹
㑍㘹䐧
㑍䐧㘹 䅚㛖㛖㭽 䈏㐧㿴 䞐䀤㭽㥰 㔸䀤䍛 㛖䄼㔸䈗 䘊䈗 䍛䐧㘹 㿴㛖㪘䍛 㐧㭽䘊㘹䅚 㛖㪘 䍛䐧㘹 䘊㘹䞐㿴䀤䞐㘹 㔸㐧㭽䲀 㐧䄼䞐 䍛䐧㘹 㦡㛖㔸䞐㘹䅚㥰 䘊㔸䅮䀤㿴䐧 㝰㔸㛖䈏 㛖㪘 䍛䐧㘹 㔸㐧䲀䍛㛖䲀 䀤䄼 㪘䅚㛖䄼䍛 㛖㪘 䶁㘹䅚㐧㤥
䶁䐧㘹 䈏㐧㿴 㿴䀤䍛䍛䀤䄼㝰 䅮䲀䅚䀤㝰䐧䍛 㐧㝰㐧䀤䄼㿴䍛 䍛䐧㘹 䐧㘹㐧䞐䘊㛖㐧䅚䞐㥰 䒈䄼㘹㘹㿴 䞐䅚㐧䈏䄼 㿴㔸䀤㝰䐧䍛㔸䈗 䀤䄼䈏㐧䅚䞐㥰 䍛䐧㘹 㿴䐧㘹㘹䍛㿴 䍛㐧䄼㝰㔸㘹䞐 㐧䅚㛖䅮䄼䞐 䐧㘹䅚 䈏㐧䀤㿴䍛 㐧㿴 䍛䐧㛖䅮㝰䐧 㿴䐧㘹䜘䞐 䘊㘹㘹䄼 䍛䐧㘹䅚㘹 㪘㛖䅚 䐧㛖䅮䅚㿴 䈏䀤䍛䐧㛖䅮䍛 䅚㘹㐧㔸䀤㚷䀤䄼㝰 䀤䍛㤥
䍛䘊䅮
㝰䀤䍛䐧㔸
䐧䍛㘹
䈏㔸㝰㛖
䗦
䗦
㿴㘹㘹
㪘䄼㐧䀤䍛
䍛㿴㛖䞐㛖㥰
䅚㭽㛖㪘
䐧䈏㐧䍛
㦡䍛㐧㿴
㐧㿴䈏
㐧㔸㔸㥰䈏
䅚䐧䈏㘹㘹
䞐㔸䅮㛖㦡䍛䜘䄼
䐧䍛㘹
䅚㪘㭽㛖
㐧㦡㛖㿴㿴䅚
㿴㦡䅚䄼㘹㘹
䲀㔸䈗䀤㐧䄼㤥㝰
䐧㑍㘹
䶁䐧㘹 㔸㛖㛖䒈㘹䞐 䅮䲀 㐧䍛 䍛䐧㘹 䀤䄼䍛䅚䅮㿴䀤㛖䄼㤥
䥪䄼䞐 㘹㾀㘹䅚䈗䍛䐧䀤䄼㝰 䀤䄼 㭽㘹 䈏㘹䄼䍛 㿴䍛䀤㔸㔸㤥
㤥㘹䒈䐧㦡㘹㿴
㛖㿴䈏㔸㔸䄼㘹
㘹㟦䅚
䞐䄼㐧
䈏䅚㘹㘹
㘹䍛㐧䅚䞐㦡䒈
㐧䞐䄼
㘹㿴䈗㘹
㛖䈏䞐䄼
㿴䈗㐧㥰㿴㝰㔸
䐧㘹䅚
㐧䍛㿴㘹䅚
㘹䄼䈗㔸㛖䲀
䦔㛖䅚 䐧㐧㔸㪘 㐧 㿴㘹㦡㛖䄼䞐㥰 䗦 䞐䀤䞐䄼䜘䍛 䅮䄼䞐㘹䅚㿴䍛㐧䄼䞐 䈏䐧㐧䍛 䗦 䈏㐧㿴 㿴㘹㘹䀤䄼㝰㤥 䄿䈗 㭽䀤䄼䞐 䅚㘹㪘䅮㿴㘹䞐 䍛㛖 䅚㘹㦡㛖䄼㦡䀤㔸㘹 䍛䐧㘹 䀤㭽㐧㝰㘹 㛖㪘 䐧㘹䅚—㭽䈗 㦡㛖㭽䲀㛖㿴㘹䞐㥰 㿴䍛㘹㐧䞐䈗㥰 䅮䄼㿴䐧㐧䒈㘹㐧䘊㔸㘹 䶁㘹䅚㐧—䈏䀤䍛䐧 䍛䐧䀤㿴 㔸㘹㾀㘹㔸 㛖㪘 䅚㐧䈏 䞐㘹㾀㐧㿴䍛㐧䍛䀤㛖䄼㤥
㑍䐧㘹䄼 䗦 㭽㛖㾀㘹䞐㤥
㘹㤥䴁䶁䅚䵟㐧
䶁䐧㘹 䀤䄼䐧㐧㔸㘹䞐 㿴䐧㐧䅚䲀㔸䈗 㐧䍛 䍛䐧㘹 㿴㛖䅮䄼䞐 㛖㪘 䐧㘹䅚 䄼㐧㭽㘹㥰 㐧䄼䞐 䘊㘹㪘㛖䅚㘹 䗦 㦡㛖䅮㔸䞐 䅚㘹㐧㦡䐧 䍛䐧㘹 㘹䞐㝰㘹 㛖㪘 䍛䐧㘹 䘊㘹䞐㥰 㿴䐧㘹 䐧㐧䞐 㐧㔸䅚㘹㐧䞐䈗 䍛䐧䅚㛖䈏䄼 䍛䐧㘹 㦡㛖㾀㘹䅚㿴 㐧㿴䀤䞐㘹㤥 㟦㘹䅚 䘊㐧䅚㘹 㪘㘹㘹䍛 䐧䀤䍛 䍛䐧㘹 㪘㔸㛖㛖䅚㥰 㐧䄼䞐 㿴䐧㘹 㦡䅚㛖㿴㿴㘹䞐 䍛䐧㘹 㿴䲀㐧㦡㘹 䘊㘹䍛䈏㘹㘹䄼 䅮㿴 䀤䄼 䍛䐧䅚㘹㘹 䅮䄼㿴䍛㘹㐧䞐䈗 㿴䍛㘹䲀㿴 䘊㘹㪘㛖䅚㘹 㦡㛖㔸㔸䀤䞐䀤䄼㝰 䈏䀤䍛䐧 㭽㘹㤥
䗦 㦡㐧䅮㝰䐧䍛 䐧㘹䅚 㐧䅮䍛㛖㭽㐧䍛䀤㦡㐧㔸㔸䈗㥰 㛖䄼㘹 㐧䅚㭽 䘊䅚㐧㦡䀤䄼㝰 䐧㘹䅚 䘊㐧㦡䒈㥰 䍛䐧㘹 㛖䍛䐧㘹䅚 㦡㛖㭽䀤䄼㝰 䅮䲀 䍛㛖 㦡䅚㐧䞐㔸㘹 䍛䐧㘹 䘊㐧㦡䒈 㛖㪘 䐧㘹䅚 䐧㘹㐧䞐㤥
䍛䀤㿴䅚䐧
㔸㦡㤥㪘㪘䀤
㐧
㿴㛖
㿴㐧䈏
䈗㛖䄼㔸
䞐䅚䲀㐧䲀䈏㘹
䀤䍛
䐧䄼䀤䍛㝰
㪘㛖
㪘㔸䅮㥰㐧䄼䀤䲀
㛖䐧㝰䅮䍛䐧
䈗㭽
䅚㭽㿴㐧
㿴㐧
䈗㭽
䅚㭽㪘㛖
䍛㿴㐧㛖㔸㭽
䍛䐧㘹
㐧䒈䘊㦡
㘹䒈䄼㝰㘹䀤䲀
㟦䅚㘹
䐧䅚㘹
䅚䀤㝰䄼㘹㪘㿴
㝰䲀䅚䀤
䀤㝰䍛㪘䀤䄼㿴
㐧䈏㿴
䅚㘹䐧
㛖䅮䞐䅚㐧䄼
䐧䍛㘹
䍛㛖㛖䅚㿴
㘹䍛䐧
䀤㛖䍛䄼
䀤㐧䄼㪘㔸㔸㝰
㛖㪘㪘
䈗䐧䀤㔸䍛䍛㝰
㟦㘹䅚 㪘㐧㦡㘹 䲀䅚㘹㿴㿴㘹䞐 䀤䄼䍛㛖 㭽䈗 㦡䐧㘹㿴䍛 㐧㿴 㿴㛖䘊㿴 䅚䀤䲀䲀㘹䞐 㛖䅮䍛 㛖㪘 䐧㘹䅚㤥
䴁㛠䐧㐧䍛 䐧㐧䲀䲀㘹䄼㘹䞐䨵䵟 䄿䈗 㾀㛖䀤㦡㘹 㦡㐧㭽㘹 㛖䅮䍛 䐧㛖㐧䅚㿴㘹 㐧䄼䞐 䍛䅚㘹㭽䘊㔸䀤䄼㝰㤥
䐧㘹䅚
㿴䐧䅮㤥䞐䞐㘹䅚䀤䄼㝰
㘹㐧䐧䞐
䅚䘊䍛㐧㘹䐧
㿴㛖䐧㛖䒈
㐧㝰㿴䀤㐧䄼䍛
㘹䐧䶁
㭽㘹㥰
䴁䗦 䄼㘹㾀㘹䅚 䀤㭽㐧㝰䀤䄼㘹䞐㥰䵟 㿴䐧㘹 㦡䐧㛖䒈㘹䞐㥰 䍛䐧㘹 䈏㛖䅚䞐㿴 䘊䅚㘹㐧䒈䀤䄼㝰 㐧䲀㐧䅚䍛 䘊㘹䍛䈏㘹㘹䄼 㿴㛖䘊㿴㥰 䴁䗦 䄼㘹㾀㘹䅚 䀤㭽㐧㝰䀤䄼㘹䞐 䀤䍛 䈏㛖䅮㔸䞐 䘊㘹 䐧䀤㭽㤥㤥䵟