The Weight Of Bones #5

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕣𝕖. 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕪, 𝕞𝕠𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕖𝕤’ 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤’ 𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕗𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕖𝕕, 𝕒 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕟𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖.

“𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞,” 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕 𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕪. “𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣.”

𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕒 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕖. ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕄𝕚𝕟-𝕛𝕚, 1935–1953. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕕—𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕨. “𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕥𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕦𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕖𝕕,” 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕. “ℕ𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤. ℕ𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞.”

𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟’𝕤 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝’𝕤 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕—𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤’ 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪’𝕕 𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥. “𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕞𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕… 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞?”

𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟’𝕤 𝕛𝕒𝕨 𝕥𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕. “ℕ𝕠 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕. 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜… 𝕀 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕙𝕚𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕥𝕙. 𝔹𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕥.”

𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕨𝕟, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝’𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕤 𝕘𝕟𝕒𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞. 𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕦𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟, 𝕡𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕟 𝕒 𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕥𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕕—𝕒 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖, 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕒 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥. 𝔹𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕚𝕥, 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕜𝕪 𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥: 𝔽𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕦𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖.

“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣,” 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕫𝕖𝕕. “𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕞𝕖𝕥. 𝕀𝕥’𝕤… 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘.”

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕. 𝔻𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕠, 𝕒 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕒𝕕 𝕕𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕒 𝕃𝕖𝕖 𝕓𝕠𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖, 𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕖𝕦𝕕’𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖. ℕ𝕠𝕨 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟, 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕠𝕥𝕙 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤.

“𝕎𝕖 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕘𝕠,” 𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟 𝕤𝕒𝕚𝕕.

𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞. “𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪’𝕝𝕝 𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕦𝕤.”

“𝕆𝕣 𝕨𝕖’𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕒𝕕.”

𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕪 𝕚𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟’𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕘. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨’𝕤 𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕠𝕟 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕, 𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕜 𝕤𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕥 𝕓𝕪 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘. 𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟 𝕕𝕦𝕘 𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕥𝕤 𝕨𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕖 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕜𝕖𝕡𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙, 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕡𝕦𝕝𝕤𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤. 𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟’𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕜 𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕—𝕒 𝕕𝕖𝕔𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖. 𝕀𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖, 𝕒 𝕓𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕣𝕚𝕓𝕓𝕠𝕟, 𝕒 𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕤𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕨𝕖𝕚𝕤𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒 𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕪 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕖𝕤.

𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕, 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕒 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖. 𝕄𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕜 𝕒 𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕙.

𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟’𝕤 𝕧𝕚𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕓𝕝𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕕. “𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤. 𝕋𝕠 𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥.”

𝔸 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕔𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜. 𝕋𝕠𝕣𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕘𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕧𝕖—𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕃𝕖𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤, 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕓𝕪 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕪, 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕖.

𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕. “ℝ𝕦𝕟.”

𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕞, 𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕖𝕤. “ℕ𝕠. 𝕃𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕪𝕖𝕕.”

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕧𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤. 𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟’𝕤 𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕖, 𝕒 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕖, 𝕤𝕖𝕚𝕫𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝. “𝔽𝕚𝕝𝕥𝕙!” 𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕡𝕒𝕥. “𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕕 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕟𝕠𝕣 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤?”

𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟’𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣, 𝕒 𝕃𝕖𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕧𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕤, 𝕤𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕖𝕤. “𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕗𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕔𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕,” 𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟. “𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕟𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣.”

“ℂ𝕠𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕?” 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕝𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕖𝕕, 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕡 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖. “ℍ𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣. 𝕄𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘.”

𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟 𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕕, 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟’𝕤. “𝕎𝕖’𝕣𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘.”

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕫𝕖. 𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕒 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕓𝕖𝕒𝕥, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣’𝕤 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕗𝕦𝕝 𝕣𝕦𝕤𝕙. 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟’𝕤 𝕒𝕦𝕟𝕥—𝕒 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕓𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟—𝕡𝕝𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕨𝕖𝕚𝕤𝕤 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖. “𝕄𝕚𝕟-𝕛𝕚… 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕣.” ℍ𝕖𝕣 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕. “𝔸𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕦𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝.”

𝔸 𝕞𝕦𝕣𝕞𝕦𝕣 𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙’𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕡 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕛𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕.

𝕐𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠 𝕊𝕖𝕠𝕛𝕦𝕟, 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕. “𝕎𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕦𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟.”

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