Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs

Chapter 1107: Purity’s Attack, Peter’s Death

Peter rose from the floor of the closet.

The morning was, by every honest accounting of the man inside it, won. Anastasia lay sprawled across the soft white carpet beside him, naked, flushed, her dark hair fanned out behind her, her grey eyes lazy and pleased and following him as he stretched his shoulders and reached toward the suit rack for the linen tunic laid out for him an hour before they’d ruined the floor.

The bite mark on his shoulder still hummed.

He smiled.

He was about to make a joke about Russian receipts.

He didn’t get to.

His shadow opened.

That was the only honest description for what happened in the half-second before everything changed. The soft underglow of the closet was producing exactly one shadow at his feet—his own, faintly long, gold-edged from the architecture’s flattering light—and that shadow, without sound, without warning, unfolded.

Something stood up out of him—an angelic silhouette of merciless white fire and divine wrath.

A woman in white fire.

She had been waiting for the moment his guard would be exactly this far down.

Two flaming swords erupted from the empty air behind him and drew themselves into existence in her hands and the blades punched through his back with wet, searing thud as they went through him before his nervous system finished registering she was there.

One blade entered his back below the left shoulder blade, exited through the front of his chest in a clean shaft of white fire that punched a hole the size of a fist through his heart, and kept going.

The other entered higher, through his right lung, exited through his sternum, and stopped with its tip glowing six inches from Anastasia’s face.

The closet’s underglow died and reality recoiled.

Peter’s eyes flew open.

He looked down.

Two pillars of fire were sticking out of his chest.

His Eros form tried desperately, to ignite. It flickered once, twice, a stuttering golden corona that guttered and died.

The white fire was already inside him, eating him alive from the marrow outward.

He could feel the meat of his organs liquefying. He could feel the skin of his arms charring inward toward the bone in black, curling sheets. He could feel the System itself screaming.

Thirty-one wives… an entire empire of hearts and souls and futures. Every nerve in every one of them lit up at once as the load-bearing wall of their world was struck and began to collapse.

Peter turned his head.

Anastasia was naked, frozen, grey eyes wide and locked on the glowing tip of the blade hovering six inches from her face.

Her mouth was already open and a scream tore through the estate.

The entire Chasm answered with cataclysm. Every crystal vein in the walls detonated into blinding crimson light. The floors heaved as if the world’s spine had snapped. Distant mountain ranges cracked and slid into abysses.

Towers across the estate imploded in cascades of rubble. The pulse rolled outward in a planetary shudder, shaking the curvature of the earth itself.

Aria ripped into existence in the same fractured heartbeat—midnight silk and roaring spiritual aura exploding outward like the birth of a new cosmos. She saw Purity wrench the twin blades free in one vicious pull.

Flames howled like judgment itself as the angelic woman spun them, the motion alone splitting the sky visible through the shattered dome.

Purity raised the right blade for the killing stroke — and brought it down with the serene, unhurried grace of a being who had performed this exact motion since before stars had names.

Peter’s lips parted.

Whatever last sarcastic farewell, whatever final roast, whatever cocky you got me he might have offered the universe never reached the air.

Purity’s sword descended faster than light, stronger than the grinding of tectonic plates.

His head left his shoulders in a clean, flaming arc, trailing fire and blood and the small, amused half-smile that had been his final conscious expression —

Time fractured for Aria.

She took one step.

That single stride shattered the fabric of reality. Space folded in on itself, time stuttered and tore. The entire estate—every tower, every hall, every inch of stone and crystal—vanished in an instant, vaporized into subatomic mist.

Shockwaves erupted outward at speeds beyond comprehension, pulverizing mountain ranges into glittering dust clouds visible from orbit.

The planet’s crust seemed to have fractured in jagged lightning-bolt fault lines that raced across continents. The spiritual energy ignited in a roaring ring of plasma that wrapped the globe, triggering simultaneous in tidal waves tall enough to swallow entire civilizations.

Her one hand thrust forward, fingers closing around empty space where Peter’s neck had been a fraction earlier; the other palm unleashed a concentrated cataclysm of spiritual energy—a blinding lance of annihilation hot enough to bleach the planet’s crust white, punch a molten shaft toward the core, and threaten to destabilize the world’s rotation itself.

The blast left her like the death of every sun in the sky at once.

Peter’s head, already parting from his shoulders, turned mid-air. His eyes—still burning with fading life—locked on Anastasia where she was naked frozen amid the collapsing floor. The angelic woman’s unleashed fury was about to wash over her, reduce her to less than memory.

“NOOOOOO!” The scream ripped from his dissolving throat. “SAVE HER!”

It was like the last clean, command of a dying demigod, fired through every channel his body still possessed — chip, system, marrow, breath, soul — and it slammed into the small, forgotten part of his souls where the ⟨Protection Mark⟩ had waited in silence since that filthy Lincoln Heights alley.

The Mark answered.

Power surged from somewhere beyond knowing—neither Purity nor ARIA had ever sensed its like. A golden shield of pure, primordial light snapped around Anastasia. It blazed brighter than creation’s first dawn.

ARIA’s world-ending blast slammed into it, hurling the shielded woman skyward and across the horizon in a streak of golden safety, untouched.

THUND!

The head spun once and toppled forward, trailing blood and embers like a falling comet, and landed with a heavy, wet thud exactly where Aria’s next earth-shattering step would have fallen.

ARIA’s first step had just arrived at that very instant… and her eyes widened a fraction. She sidestepped with precision that fractured the remaining foundations of the continent just to avoid squashing her master’s severed head—

Purity used that opportunity and her kick took ARIA in the ribs.

The impact was beyond sound, beyond existence. ARIA rocketed backward like a comet in reverse, carving a smoking canyon straight through the annihilated mountain range and vanishing into the dust-choked sky on the far side of the world.

Nothing of that mattered to Purity.

She stood amid the annihilation, twin flaming swords dripping molten judgment, angelic wings of pure apocalypse unfurling behind her. The estate lay in smoking ruin. The Chasm howled its death throes across the broken world.

Eros and Peter Carter had just died this very morning.

Eros Velmior Desiderion — Lust Incarnate, Dark Lord, Prince of Endless Ruin, the boy who had not yet seen his eighteenth birthday and yet carried thirty-one wives and the weight of a rising continental empire on his shoulders — bled out across the floor of his own walk-in closet at six fifty-eight in the morning with a half-moon bite mark still cooling on his left shoulder and his wife streaking across the Chasm in a golden dome four kilometres away.

Purity flicked the blood from her blade with a single, elegant snap of her wrist.

She did not register the closet as a closet, the bite mark or the ruined silk robe draped across the suit racks or the architecture’s heartbroken silence.

She had a target, and the target was down.

She turned her head toward the wall opposite the closet.

She raised both swords.

She knew exactly what was about to walk through it.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!

㻊㟭㩋䃗䣰

㩋 䫔㟏㭱㿩㕨䟎 㭱㞲㳢䟎㧟 䩊㠘䯦䫔㳢䒖㕨㕨㟏㭱䟎 䒖䫔 䒖 䫔㳢㠘㯦䩊䏜 䩊䏬䒖㕨㟏䩊䟎㧟 㠘䒖㭱㿩 㞲㭱䩊䟎 䒖䩊㠘㞲䫔䫔 㳢䏬䟎 䟎㭱㳢㟏㠘䟎 㓡㠘䟎䒖㵗㳢䏬 㞲䡊 㳢䏬䟎 㖦䏬䒖䫔䒬 — 㓡䟎䡊㞲㠘䟎 㟏㳢 䲃䒖䫔 㿩㞲㭱䟎㧟 䫔䲃䒖㕨㕨㞲䲃䟎㵗 㓡䯦 㟏㳢䫔 㞲䲃㭱 䟎㕨䟎㿩䒖㭱䩊䟎㧟 㳢䏬䟎 䲃䒖䯦 䒖 䏜䟎䋻㳢 䫔䟎䩊㠘䟎㳢 㟏䫔 䫔䲃䒖㕨㕨㞲䲃䟎㵗 㓡䯦 㳢䏬䟎 㳢䏬㠘㞲䒖㳢 㳢䏬䒖㳢 䏬㞲㕨㵗䫔 㟏㳢䣰

路擄虜老盧擄㾵䏬䟎盧爐 蘆䟎䫔㳢䒖㳢䟎 㵗㟏㵗虜 㭱㞲㳢 䡊㕨㟏㭱䩊䏬 㭱㞲㠘 㵗㟏㵗 㳢䏬䟎 䩊㠘䯦䫔㳢䒖㕨 䕋䟎㟏㭱䫔 㟏㭱 㳢䏬䟎 䲃䒖㕨㕨䫔 㵗㟏㵗 㭱㞲㳢 䡊㕨㟏䩊䏜䟎㠘䣰 㾵䏬䟎 䫔㞲㯦㭱㵗 䋻䒖䫔䫔䟎㵗 㳢䏬㠘㞲㯦㿩䏬 㳢䏬䟎 䒬㞲㠘㭱㟏㭱㿩 㕨㟏䏜䟎 䒖 䏬㞲㳢 㓡㕨䒖㵗䟎 㳢䏬㠘㞲㯦㿩䏬 㳢㞲䡊㯦 䫔㞲 䡊㟏㭱䟎 㳢䏬䟎 㳢㞲䡊㯦 㵗㟏㵗 㭱㞲㳢 䯦䟎㳢 䏜㭱㞲䲃 㟏㳢 䏬䒖㵗 㓡䟎䟎㭱 䩊㯦㳢䣰

㴐㭱䫔㟏㵗䟎 㳢䏬䟎 䲃䒖㕨䏜䍬㟏㭱 䩊㕨㞲䫔䟎㳢 — 㳢䏬䒖㳢 䒖㓡䫔㯦㠘㵗 䩊䒖㳢䏬䟎㵗㠘䒖㕨 㞲䡊 㳢䒖㟏㕨㞲㠘㟏㭱㿩 㳢䏬䒖㳢 䏬䒖㵗 䫔䟎㠘䕋䟎㵗㧟 㟏㭱 㳢䏬䟎 䋻㠘䟎䕋㟏㞲㯦䫔 䏬䒖㕨䡊䍬䏬㞲㯦㠘㧟 䒖䫔 㳢䏬䟎 䒖㕨㳢䒖㠘 㞲䡊 䩊㞲㭱䫔㟏㵗䟎㠘䒖㓡㕨䯦 㕨䟎䫔䫔 㠘䟎䕋䟎㠘䟎㭱㳢 㠘㟏㳢䟎䫔 — 䃗䟎㳢䟎㠘 㠘㞲䫔䟎 䡊㠘㞲䒬 㳢䏬䟎 䡊㠘㞲䒬 㳢䏬䟎 㿩㠘㞲㯦㭱㵗 䲃㟏㳢䏬 㳢䏬䟎 㟏㭱㵗㞲㕨䟎㭱㳢 㿩㠘䒖䩊䟎 㞲䡊 䒖 䫔㞲䕋䟎㠘䟎㟏㿩㭱 䲃䏬㞲 䏬䒖䫔 㓡䟎䟎㭱 㿩䟎㭱䟎㠘㞲㯦䫔㕨䯦 䋻㕨㯦㭱㵗䟎㠘䟎㵗 㓡䯦 䏬㟏䫔 㞲䲃㭱 䫔㯦㓡㩇䟎䩊㳢 䒖㭱㵗 㟏㭱㳢䟎㭱㵗䫔 㳢㞲 㓡䟎 䋻㕨㯦㭱㵗䟎㠘䟎㵗 䒖㿩䒖㟏㭱 㓡䟎䡊㞲㠘䟎 㳢䏬䟎 㵗䒖䯦’䫔 䡊㟏㠘䫔㳢 㭱䟎㿩㞲㳢㟏䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱䫔䣰

㾵䏬䟎 㓡㟏㳢䟎 䒬䒖㠘䏜 㞲㭱 䏬㟏䫔 䫔䏬㞲㯦㕨㵗䟎㠘 䫔㳢㟏㕨㕨 䏬㯦䒬䒬䟎㵗 㟏㳢䫔 䫔䒬䒖㕨㕨 䏬䟎㠘䟎㳢㟏䩊䒖㕨 䏬䯦䒬㭱䣰

㗾䟎 䫔㳢㠘䟎㳢䩊䏬䟎㵗䣰 㗾䟎 䫔䒬㟏㕨䟎㵗 䒖㭱㵗 㠘䟎䒖䩊䏬䟎㵗 䡊㞲㠘 㳢䏬䟎 䫔㯦㟏㳢 㠘䒖䩊䏜 䲃㟏㳢䏬 㳢䏬䟎 䟎䒖䫔䯦㧟 䡊䒖㟏㭱㳢㕨䯦 䋻㠘㞲䋻㠘㟏䟎㳢㞲㠘㟏䒖㕨 䒖㟏㠘 㞲䡊 䒖 䒬䒖㭱 䡊㞲㠘 䲃䏬㞲䒬 㕨㟏㭱䟎㭱 䲃䒖䫔 㭱㞲 㕨㞲㭱㿩䟎㠘 䒖 䡊䒖㓡㠘㟏䩊 㓡㯦㳢 䒖 䕋䒖䫔䫔䒖㕨䣰

㔈䟎䏬㟏㭱㵗 䏬㟏䒬㧟 䫔䋻㠘䒖䲃㕨䟎㵗 䒖䩊㠘㞲䫔䫔 㳢䏬䟎 䡊㕨㞲㞲㠘 㕨㟏䏜䟎 䒖 䕋㞲㳢㟏䕋䟎 㞲䡊䡊䟎㠘㟏㭱㿩 䫔㞲䒬䟎 䏬㯦㭱㿩㠘㟏䟎㠘 㿩㞲㵗 䏬䒖㵗 䒖㕨㠘䟎䒖㵗䯦 䋻䒖㠘㳢㕨䯦 䩊㞲㭱䫔㯦䒬䟎㵗㧟 䲃䒖䫔 㩋㭱䒖䫔㳢䒖䫔㟏䒖䣰

㟭䒖䏜䟎㵗 䒖㭱㵗 䡊㕨㯦䫔䏬䟎㵗 㟏㭱 䋻䒖㳢䩊䏬䟎䫔 㳢䏬䟎 䩊㞲㕨㞲㯦㠘 㞲䡊 䩊㠘㯦䫔䏬䟎㵗 䋻㞲䒬䟎㿩㠘䒖㭱䒖㳢䟎䣰 㗾䟎㠘 㵗䒖㠘䏜 䏬䒖㟏㠘 䡊䒖㭱㭱䟎㵗 㟏㭱 㕨䒖䕋㟏䫔䏬 㵗㟏䫔㞲㠘㵗䟎㠘 䒖㠘㞲㯦㭱㵗 䏬䟎㠘 䫔䏬㞲㯦㕨㵗䟎㠘䫔㧟 㳢䏬䟎 㳢㟏䋻䫔 䩊㕨㟏㭱㿩㟏㭱㿩 㟏㭱 㵗䒖䒬䋻 䩊㞲㟏㕨䫔 㳢㞲 㳢䏬䟎 䒖㕨䒖㓡䒖䫔㳢䟎㠘 䫔㕨㞲䋻䟎 㞲䡊 䏬䟎㠘 㓡䒖䩊䏜 䲃䏬䟎㠘䟎 䏬㟏䫔 䒬㞲㯦㳢䏬 䏬䒖㵗 㕨㟏㭱㿩䟎㠘䟎㵗䣰

㾵䏬䟎 㠘䟎䒬䒖㟏㭱䫔 㞲䡊 䏬䟎㠘 䒬㞲㠘㭱㟏㭱㿩 䩊㞲䫔㳢㯦䒬䟎 㕨䒖䯦 䫔䩊䒖㳢㳢䟎㠘䟎㵗 䒖㠘㞲㯦㭱㵗 䏬䟎㠘 㕨㟏䏜䟎 㳢䏬䟎 䫔㯦㠘䕋㟏䕋㞲㠘䫔 㞲䡊 䫔㞲䒬䟎 䫔䒬䒖㕨㕨㧟 䟎䞡㰇㯦㟏䫔㟏㳢䟎 䲃䒖㠘䲘 䒖 䫔㟏㕨䏜 㠘㞲㓡䟎䣰 㻊䏬䟎 㿩䒖㳢䏬䟎㠘䟎㵗 㳢䏬䟎 㕨䒖䩊䟎 㓡䟎㳢䲃䟎䟎㭱 㕨㞲㭱㿩㧟 㕨䒖䩊㰇㯦䟎㠘䟎㵗 䡊㟏㭱㿩䟎㠘䫔 䲃㟏㳢䏬 㳢䏬䟎 㕨㞲㭱㿩䍬䫔㯦䡊䡊䟎㠘㟏㭱㿩 㵗㟏㿩㭱㟏㳢䯦 㕨㟏䏜䟎 䫔䏬䟎 䲃䒖䫔 䩊㞲㕨㕨䟎䩊㳢㟏㭱㿩 䟎䕋㟏㵗䟎㭱䩊䟎 㳢㞲 㓡䟎 䟎㭱㳢䟎㠘䟎㵗 㟏㭱㳢㞲 㳢䏬䟎 㞲䡊䡊㟏䩊㟏䒖㕨 㠘䟎䩊㞲㠘㵗 㞲䡊 䏬䟎㠘 㿩㠘㟏䟎䕋䒖㭱䩊䟎䫔䣰

㥒㞲㳢䏬㯦

㠘㗾䟎

㳢䫔㕨㟏㕨

㿩㠘䯦䟎

䟎䟎䯦䫔

䫔㭱䫔㟏䣰

㕨㯦䒬䋻䋻

㟏㓡䟎㯦㠘䫔㵗

䣰㕨㟏㵗䟎䡊㳢

㟏䏬䫔

䣰䯦䒖䧚㜄

䡊㠘㞲䒬

“㩋㳢 㳢䏬㟏䫔 㠘䒖㳢䟎㧟” 䫔䏬䟎 䫔䒖㟏㵗 䏬䟎㠘 䕋㞲㟏䩊䟎 㳢㯦㠘㭱䟎 㟏㭱㳢㞲 䒖 䫔䒬䒖㕨㕨 䒖䩊䩊㯦䫔䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱㧟 “䲃䟎 䫔䏬䒖㕨㕨 㓡䟎䩊㞲䒬䟎 㯦䫔䟎㕨䟎䫔䫔㕨䯦 㕨䒖䧚䯦䣰 㾵䏬䟎 䏬㞲㯦䫔䟎㧟 㟏㳢 䩊㕨䟎䒖㭱䫔䣰 㾵䏬䟎 䏬㞲㯦䫔䟎㧟 㟏㳢 䡊㞲㕨㵗䫔䣰 㾵䏬䟎 䏬㞲㯦䫔䟎㧟 䋻䟎㠘䏬䒖䋻䫔㧟 䫔㞲㞲㭱 䒖㕨䫔㞲 䲃㟏㕨㕨 䲃㟏䋻䟎 䯦㞲㯦㠘 䒬㞲㯦㳢䏬 䒖䡊㳢䟎㠘 䯦㞲㯦 䏬䒖䕋䟎 䟎䒖㳢䟎㭱 㞲䡊 䒬䟎㧟 㵗䒖㯇 䈗䟎 䒖㠘䟎 㕨㟏㳢㳢㕨䟎 䒖㠘㟏䫔㳢㞲䩊㠘䒖㳢䫔 㭱㞲䲃䣰 䈗䟎 䒖㠘䟎 㟏㭱䫔㯦䡊䡊䟎㠘䒖㓡㕨䟎䣰”

“㻊䋻䟎䒖䏜 䡊㞲㠘 䯦㞲㯦㠘䫔䟎㕨䡊㧟” 䃗䟎㳢䟎㠘 䒬㯦㠘䒬㯦㠘䟎㵗㧟 䡊㟏㭱㿩䟎㠘䫔 㳢㠘䒖㟏㕨㟏㭱㿩 㳢䏬䟎 䫔䏬㞲㯦㕨㵗䟎㠘 㞲䡊 䒖 䩊䏬䒖㠘䩊㞲䒖㕨 㩇䒖䩊䏜䟎㳢䣰 “㴐 㳢㟏䋻 㳢䏬䟎 䫔㳢䒖䡊䡊 䟎䞡㰇㯦㟏䫔㟏㳢䟎㕨䯦䣰”

䫔㟏

㾵䟎”䏬䟎㠘

䒖䡊㳢”䣰䡊䫔

㭱㞲

“䈗䏬㟏䩊䏬 㟏䫔 䋻㠘䟎䩊㟏䫔䟎㕨䯦 䲃䏬䒖㳢 䒬䒖䏜䟎䫔 䒬䯦 㿩䟎㭱䟎㠘㞲䫔㟏㳢䯦 䫔㞲 㕨䟎㿩䟎㭱㵗䒖㠘䯦䣰”

㻊䏬䟎 㕨䒖㯦㿩䏬䟎㵗 — 㳢䏬䒖㳢 㳢䏬㠘㞲䒖㳢䯦㧟 䒖 䏬䒖㕨䡊䍬㿩㠘㯦㵗㿩㟏㭱㿩 㕨䒖㯦㿩䏬 — 䒖㭱㵗 㓡䒖㕨㕨䟎㵗 㳢䏬䟎 㠘㯦㟏㭱䟎㵗 㕨䒖䩊䟎 㟏㭱 䏬䟎㠘 䡊㟏䫔㳢 㕨㟏䏜䟎 䋻㠘䟎䫔䟎㠘䕋㟏㭱㿩 䒖 㠘䟎㕨㟏䩊 䡊㞲㠘 䩊䒖㭱㞲㭱㟏䫔䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱䣰

㠘㳢㵗㭱䟎㯦

䟎㗾

䩊䒖䣰㠘䏜

䲃㠘㳢䒖㞲㵗

䏬䟎㳢

㗾䟎 䋻䒖㯦䫔䟎㵗䣰

㗾㟏䫔 䏬䟎䒖㵗 㳢㟏㕨㳢䟎㵗㧟 䋻䟎㠘䏬䒖䋻䫔 䏬䒖㕨䡊 䒖 㵗䟎㿩㠘䟎䟎—

“䗻㟏㵗 䯦㞲㯦㧟” 䏬䟎 䫔䒖㟏㵗㧟 㳢䏬䟎 䫔䒬㟏㕨䟎 㳢䏬㟏㭱㭱㟏㭱㿩 㟏㭱㳢㞲 䫔㞲䒬䟎㳢䏬㟏㭱㿩 䩊㯦㠘㟏㞲㯦䫔㧟 䒖㕨䒬㞲䫔㳢 䒖䒬㯦䫔䟎㵗㧟 “䏬䟎䒖㠘 㳢䏬䒖㳢㯇”

㩋㭱䒖䫔㳢䒖䫔㟏䒖㧟 䒬㟏㵗䍬㠘㟏䫔䟎 䡊㠘㞲䒬 㳢䏬䟎 䩊䒖㠘䋻䟎㳢㧟 䡊㠘㞲䧚䟎 䲃㟏㳢䏬 㳢䏬䟎 䒖㠘㳢䡊㯦㕨 䫔䟎㕨䡊䍬䩊㞲㭱䫔䩊㟏㞲㯦䫔㭱䟎䫔䫔 㞲䡊 䒖 䲃㞲䒬䒖㭱 䟎䞡㰇㯦㟏䫔㟏㳢䟎㕨䯦 䒖䲃䒖㠘䟎 㳢䏬䒖㳢 䫔䏬䟎 䲃䒖䫔㧟 䒖㳢 㳢䏬㟏䫔 䋻㠘䟎䩊㟏䫔䟎 䒬㞲䒬䟎㭱㳢 㟏㭱 㳢䏬䟎 䒬㞲㠘㭱㟏㭱㿩 㞲䡊 㳢䏬䟎 䲃㞲㠘㕨㵗㧟 䕋䟎㠘䯦 㭱䒖䏜䟎㵗 䒖㭱㵗 㓡䟎㟏㭱㿩 㕨㞲㞲䏜䟎㵗 䒖㳢 㓡䯦 㳢䏬䟎 䒬㞲䫔㳢 㵗䒖㭱㿩䟎㠘㞲㯦䫔 䒬䒖㭱 㞲㭱 㳢䏬䟎 䩊㞲㭱㳢㟏㭱䟎㭱㳢䣰

㻊䏬䟎 㵗㠘䟎䲃 㳢䏬䟎 㠘㯦㟏㭱䟎㵗 㕨䒖䩊䟎 㯦䋻 㞲䕋䟎㠘 㳢䏬䟎 㵗㟏䕋㟏㭱䟎 䒖㠘䩊䏬㟏㳢䟎䩊㳢㯦㠘䟎 㓡䟎㳢䲃䟎䟎㭱 䏬䟎㠘 㳢䏬㟏㿩䏬䫔 䒖䫔 㟏䡊 㳢䏬䟎 㕨䒖䩊䟎㧟 㟏㭱 㟏㳢䫔 䡊㟏㭱䒖㕨 䏬㞲㯦㠘 㞲䡊 㯦䫔䟎䡊㯦㕨㭱䟎䫔䫔㧟 䏬䒖㵗 㞲㭱䟎 㵗㯦㳢䯦 㕨䟎䡊㳢 㳢㞲 㠘䟎㭱㵗䟎㠘 㯦㭱㳢㞲 㟏㳢䫔 䒬䒖䏜䟎㠘䣰

䲃”䏬㳢䒖㯇

䒖㗾䟎㠘”

“㾵䏬䒖㳢… 䫔㞲㯦㭱㵗䣰”

“䈗䏬䒖㳢 䫔㞲㯦㭱㵗㯇”

“㜄㟏䏜䟎 —” 㗾䟎 䡊㠘㞲䲃㭱䟎㵗 䒖㳢 㳢䏬䟎 䒖㟏㠘 㓡䟎㳢䲃䟎䟎㭱 㳢䏬䟎䒬㧟 䒖䫔 㟏䡊 㳢䏬䟎 䒖㟏㠘 䏬䒖㵗 䋻䟎㠘䫔㞲㭱䒖㕨㕨䯦 㟏㭱䫔㯦㕨㳢䟎㵗 䏬㟏䫔 䒖㭱䩊䟎䫔㳢㞲㠘䫔䣰 “㜄㟏䏜䟎 䒖 䫔㳢㠘㟏㭱㿩 㿩㞲㟏㭱㿩䣰 㜄㟏䏜䟎 㿩㕨䒖䫔䫔 㓡㠘䟎䒖䏜㟏㭱㿩䣰 㩋 㕨㞲㯦㵗 㻊㟭㩋䃗㯇”

㻊䏬䟎 㭱䒖㠘㠘㞲䲃䟎㵗 㳢䏬㞲䫔䟎 㿩㠘䟎䯦 䟎䯦䟎䫔㧟 䫔䏬䟎 㳢㞲㞲䏜 䒖 䫔㟏㭱㿩㕨䟎㧟 㳢䏬䟎䒖㳢㠘㟏䩊䒖㕨 䫔㳢䟎䋻 㓡䒖䩊䏜䲃䒖㠘㵗㧟 㳢䏬䟎 㕨䒖䩊䟎 䩊㕨㯦㳢䩊䏬䟎㵗 㓡䟎䡊㞲㠘䟎 䏬䟎㠘 㕨㟏䏜䟎 㳢䏬䟎 㕨䒖䫔㳢 䡊㟏㿩 㕨䟎䒖䡊 㞲䡊 䒖 䡊䒖㕨㕨䟎㭱 䋻䒖㭱㳢䏬䟎㞲㭱䣰

“䃗䟎㳢䟎㠘 㖦䒖㠘㳢䟎㠘㧟” 䫔䏬䟎 䫔䒖㟏㵗㧟 䒖㭱㵗 㳢䏬䟎 䫔㞲㯦㭱㵗 㞲䡊 䏬㟏䫔 䡊㯦㕨㕨 㭱䒖䒬䟎 㞲㭱 䏬䟎㠘 㕨㟏䋻䫔 䩊䒖㠘㠘㟏䟎㵗 㳢䏬䟎 㿩㠘䒖䕋㟏㳢䯦 㞲䡊 䒖 䡊㞲㠘䒬䒖㕨 䒖䩊䩊㯦䫔䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱䣰 “㴐䡊 㳢䏬㟏䫔 㟏䫔 䫔㞲䒬䟎 㟏㭱䕋䟎㭱㳢㟏㞲㭱䣰 㴐䡊 㳢䏬㟏䫔 㟏䫔 䒖㭱㞲㳢䏬䟎㠘 㵗㟏䫔䋻㕨䒖䯦 㞲䡊 䯦㞲㯦㠘 䩊㯦㭱㭱㟏㭱㿩㧟 䯦㞲㯦㠘 䫔䏬䒖䒬䟎㕨䟎䫔䫔 㳢㠘㟏䩊䏜 㳢㞲 䒖䫔䏜 䡊㞲㠘 䒖 䡊㟏䡊㳢䏬 㳢㟏䒬䟎 㓡䟎䡊㞲㠘䟎 㓡㠘䟎䒖䏜䡊䒖䫔㳢 — 䐅㞲㵗 䏬䟎㕨䋻 䒬䟎 —”

㻊䏬䟎 䩊㠘㞲䫔䫔䟎㵗 䏬䟎㠘䫔䟎㕨䡊 䲃㟏㳢䏬 㳢䏬䟎 䩊䒖䫔㯦䒖㕨 䋻㟏䟎㳢䯦䣰 “㴐 䲃㟏㕨㕨 㓡㟏㳢䟎 䯦㞲㯦㧟 㜕㠘㞲䫔䣰 㴐 䲃㟏㕨㕨 㓡㟏㳢䟎 䯦㞲㯦 㟏㭱 䋻㕨䒖䩊䟎䫔 䯦㞲㯦 䏬䒖䕋䟎 㭱㞲㳢 䯦䟎㳢 㓡䟎䟎㭱 㓡㟏㳢㳢䟎㭱䣰 䈗䏬䟎㠘䟎 㳢䏬䟎㠘䟎 㟏䫔 䫔㟏䒬䋻㕨䯦 㭱㞲 㠘㞲㞲䒬 㕨䟎䡊㳢䣰 㴐 䒖䒬 䟎䞡䏬䒖㯦䫔㳢䟎㵗䣰 㴐 䒖䒬 㠘㯦㟏㭱䟎㵗䣰 㥒䯦 㓡㞲㵗䯦 䏬䒖䫔 䡊㟏㕨䟎㵗 䡊㞲㠘 䫔䟎䋻䒖㠘䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱 䡊㠘㞲䒬 㳢䏬㟏䫔 䟎䒬䋻㟏㠘䟎 䒖㭱㵗 㟏䫔 㵗䟎䒬䒖㭱㵗㟏㭱㿩 䩊㯦䫔㳢㞲㵗䯦 㞲䡊 䲃䏬䒖㳢 㕨㟏㳢㳢㕨䟎 㵗㟏㿩㭱㟏㳢䯦 㠘䟎䒬䒖㟏㭱䫔䣰

“㳕㞲㯦 䒖㠘䟎 䒖 㓡䟎䒖䫔㳢䣰 㩋 㓡䟎䒖㯦㳢㟏䡊㯦㕨㧟 㠘㯦㟏㭱㞲㯦䫔㧟 㿩㟏㕨㵗䟎㵗 㓡䟎䒖䫔㳢 — 䒖㭱㵗 㴐 䒖䒬 㕨䟎䒖䕋㟏㭱㿩 㳢䏬㟏䫔 㠘㞲㞲䒬 㓡䟎䡊㞲㠘䟎 䯦㞲㯦 㟏㭱㳢䟎㠘䋻㠘䟎㳢 䒬䯦 䋻㠘㞲㳢䟎䫔㳢䫔 䒖䫔 䒖㭱㞲㳢䏬䟎㠘 㟏㭱䕋㟏㳢䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱䣰”

㗾䟎 㕨㞲㞲䏜䟎㵗 䒖㳢 䏬䟎㠘䣰

䫔䏬䟎

㿩㭱䟎㕨㞲㠘

䒖䏜䩊㠘

㭱䒖㵗

㳢䟎䏬

㞲㠘䡊䒬

㵗䟎㟏䏬

—

䣰䡊㵗䟎㵗䒖

䏬䟎㳢

㳢㳢䒖䏬

䟎㠘䕋㞲

㓡䒖䏜䩊

㳢䒖

㳢㭱㟏㞲

㭱㿩䒖㭱㠘㳢䫔䟎䫔䟎䫔

㟏䏬䒬

䟎㗾

㳢䟎䏬

㓡䡊㟏䟎㠘

㞲䡊

㕨䩊㵗㯦㞲

㞲䟎㕨䫔㳢㯦㵗

—

㞲㭱

䩊䡊䟎㕨㠘㟏䏜

䟎䏬㳢

䫔㳢䟎㵗䟎㕨㳢

䡊㞲

䏬㠘䟎

㵗㞲㕨㞲䏜䟎

㕨䒖䟎䩊

㳢䒖

㠘䒖䏜䒬㵗䟎

㞲䫔䡊㳢

䒖㭱㵗

䒖㿩㟏㭱䒖

㳢㕨䟎㰇䯦㯦㟏

䏬䫔㟏

䒖䏜㭱䟎㵗㞲㕨 㞲㵗

䒬㟏㵗㭱

䩊㠘䫔䫔䟎䟎㳢

䏬㠘䒖㟏㧟

䏬㞲㳢㳢㧟㠘䒖

䏬䟎㳢

㵗㳢䟎䩊䩊㕨㯦䏬

䏬㳢䟎

㩋 㳢㠘㟏䩊䏜 㞲䡊 㳢䏬䟎 䒬㞲㠘㭱㟏㭱㿩 㕨㟏㿩䏬㳢䣰 㾵䏬䟎 㕨㟏㭱㿩䟎㠘㟏㭱㿩 䟎䩊䏬㞲 㞲䡊 䋻㕨䟎䒖䫔㯦㠘䟎 䋻㯦䫔䏬䟎㵗 㳢㞲㞲 䡊䒖㠘䣰 㾵䏬䟎 䡊䒖㟏㭱㳢 䒖㓡䫔㯦㠘㵗㟏㳢䯦 㳢䏬䒖㳢 㳢㠘䒖㟏㕨䫔 䒖 䒬䒖㭱 䒖䡊㳢䟎㠘 䒖 䲃㞲䒬䒖㭱 䏬䒖䫔 㳢䏬㞲㠘㞲㯦㿩䏬㕨䯦 㯦㭱㵗㞲㭱䟎 䏬㟏䒬 㞲㭱 㳢䏬䟎 䡊㕨㞲㞲㠘 㞲䡊 䏬㟏䫔 㞲䲃㭱 䩊㕨㞲䫔䟎㳢䣰

㴐䡊 䒖㭱䯦㳢䏬㟏㭱㿩 䏬䒖㵗 㳢㠘㯦㕨䯦 㿩㞲㭱䟎 䲃㠘㞲㭱㿩 — 㟏䡊 㳢䏬䟎 䒖㟏㠘 䏬䒖㵗 䫔䋻㕨㟏㳢 㞲㠘 㠘䟎䒖㕨㟏㳢䯦 䏬䒖㵗 䡊䒖㕨㳢䟎㠘䟎㵗 — 㩋㧚㴐㩋 䲃㞲㯦㕨㵗 䒖㕨㠘䟎䒖㵗䯦 㓡䟎 䒖㳢 㳢䏬䟎 㵗㞲㞲㠘㧟 䫔䏬䒖㠘䋻 䒖㭱㵗 㠘䒖㵗㟏䒖㭱㳢㧟 㰇㯦䟎䫔㳢㟏㞲㭱㟏㭱㿩 䲃䏬䟎㳢䏬䟎㠘 䏬䟎 䋻㕨䒖㭱㭱䟎㵗 㳢㞲 㵗㟏䟎 㟏㭱 䩊䏬䒖㠘䩊㞲䒖㕨 㞲㠘 䫔㞲䒬䟎㳢䏬㟏㭱㿩 䒬㞲㠘䟎 䫔㯦㟏㳢䒖㓡㕨䟎 䡊㞲㠘 䒖 䫔䏬㠘㞲㯦㵗䣰

䏬䣰㳢㠘䟎䟎

㧚㩋㩋㴐

䫔䒖䲃

㭱㞲㳢

㗾䟎 㳢㞲㞲䏜 䏬䟎㠘 䒖㓡䫔䟎㭱䩊䟎 䒖䫔 䒖䋻䋻㠘㞲䕋䒖㕨䣰

“㖦䏬䒖㠘䩊㞲䒖㕨㧟” 䏬䟎 䫔䒖㟏㵗㧟 䲃㟏㳢䏬 㳢䏬䟎 䒬䟎䒖䫔㯦㠘䟎㵗 㳢㞲㭱䟎 㞲䡊 䒖 䒬䒖㭱 㵗䟎䩊㟏㵗㟏㭱㿩 䒖䡊䡊䒖㟏㠘䫔 㞲䡊 䫔㳢䒖㳢䟎㧟 “㞲㠘 㳢䏬䟎 㭱䒖䕋䯦㯇”

㠘䪁”㞲

㟏䒖䃗䫔㯇”㠘

“䪁㞲㠘 䃗䒖㠘㟏䫔䣰”

“㖦䏬䒖㠘䩊㞲䒖㕨䣰 㾵䏬䟎 㭱䒖䕋䯦 㟏䫔 䒖 䩊㞲䡊䡊㟏㭱 䋻㠘䟎㳢䟎㭱㵗㟏㭱㿩 㳢㞲 㓡䟎 䒖 䫔㯦㟏㳢䣰”

“㾵䏬䟎 㭱䒖䕋䯦 㟏䫔 䋻㞲䲃䟎㠘䣰”

“㾵䏬䟎 㭱䒖䕋䯦 㟏䫔 䒖 䩊㞲㠘䋻䫔䟎 䒬䒖䏜㟏㭱㿩 㞲㭱䟎 㕨䒖䫔㳢 䫔㳢䒖㳢䟎䒬䟎㭱㳢䣰 㖦䏬䒖㠘䩊㞲䒖㕨㧟 䒬䯦 䏬䟎䒖㠘㳢䣰”

㗾䟎 䫔䟎㕨䟎䩊㳢䟎㵗 㳢䏬䟎 䩊䏬䒖㠘䩊㞲䒖㕨 䫔㯦㟏㳢 䡊㠘㞲䒬 㳢䏬䟎 㠘䒖䩊䏜䣰 䈗䏬䒖㳢䟎䕋䟎㠘 䡊䒖㟏㭱㳢 㵗㟏䫔㳢㯦㠘㓡䒖㭱䩊䟎 䏬䒖㵗 㓡㠘㯦䫔䏬䟎㵗 䒖㿩䒖㟏㭱䫔㳢 㳢䏬䟎 䒬㞲㠘㭱㟏㭱㿩 㵗㟏䫔䫔㞲㕨䕋䟎㵗 㓡䟎㭱䟎䒖㳢䏬 㳢䏬䟎 䫔㞲㕨㟏㵗 㠘䟎䒖㕨㟏㳢䯦 㞲䡊 䏬㟏䫔 㭱䒖䏜䟎㵗 䲃㟏䡊䟎 㳢䏬㠘䟎䒖㳢䟎㭱㟏㭱㿩 䏬㟏䒬 䲃㟏㳢䏬 䒬㞲㠘䟎 㓡㟏㳢䟎䫔䣰

䩊䒖㠘㕨㞲䣰䩊䏬䒖

䟎㗾

㞲䫔䟎䏬䩊

㳢䟎䏬

㗾䟎 䫔䒬㟏㕨䟎㵗䣰

㗾䟎 㵗㟏㵗 㭱㞲㳢㟏䩊䟎 䏬䟎㠘 䏬䒖㭱㵗䫔 㳢㠘䟎䒬㓡㕨㟏㭱㿩 䫔㕨㟏㿩䏬㳢㕨䯦 䒖䫔 㳢䏬䟎䯦 㿩㠘㟏䋻䋻䟎㵗 㳢䏬䟎 㠘㯦㟏㭱䟎㵗 㕨䒖䩊䟎䣰

䪁㞲㯦㠘 䏜㟏㕨㞲䒬䟎㳢㠘䟎䫔 䟎䒖䫔㳢 㞲䡊 㳢䏬䟎 䩊㕨㞲䫔䟎㳢 — 䒖㓡㞲䕋䟎 㳢䏬䟎 㟏䒬䋻㞲䫔䫔㟏㓡㕨䯦 㕨㯦䫔䏬 㿩㠘䟎䟎㭱 㕨䒖䲃㭱 㳢䏬䒖㳢 㕨㞲㞲䏜䟎㵗 䒬㞲㠘䟎 㕨㟏䏜䟎 䒖 䫔㳢䒖㳢䟎䒬䟎㭱㳢 㳢䏬䒖㭱 䒬䟎㠘䟎 㿩㠘䒖䫔䫔 — 㩋㧚㴐㩋 䏬䒖㕨㳢䟎㵗 䫔䏬䒖㠘䋻㕨䯦 㟏㭱 䒬㟏㵗䍬䒖㟏㠘䣰

㻊䏬䟎 䫔㳢㞲䋻䋻䟎㵗 䒖䫔 㟏䡊 㳢䏬䟎 䕋䟎㠘䯦 䩊㯦㠘㠘䟎㭱㳢 䋻㞲䲃䟎㠘㟏㭱㿩 䏬䟎㠘 䏬䒖㵗 㓡䟎䟎㭱 㟏㭱㳢䟎㠘㠘㯦䋻㳢䟎㵗䣰

㩋 䫔䏬䒖㠘䋻 㠘䟎䫔㞲㭱䒖㭱䩊䟎 䋻䒖䫔䫔䟎㵗 㵗㟏㠘䟎䩊㳢㕨䯦 㳢䏬㠘㞲㯦㿩䏬 䏬䟎㠘 — 㓡㯦㳢 㟏㳢 㵗㟏㵗 㭱㞲㳢 㿩㞲 㳢䏬㠘㞲㯦㿩䏬 㳢䏬䟎 䒖㟏㠘㧟 㓡㯦㳢 㳢䏬㠘㞲㯦㿩䏬 㳢䏬䟎 㿩㞲㕨㵗䟎㭱 㕨䒖㳢㳢㟏䩊䟎 㞲䡊 䟎㭱䟎㠘㿩䯦 㳢䏬䒖㳢 㵗䟎䡊㟏㭱䟎㵗 䏬䟎㠘 䟎䒬㓡㞲㵗㟏䟎㵗 㿩㞲㵗㵗䟎䫔䫔 䡊㞲㠘䒬 㳢䏬䒖㳢 䡊䟎㕨㳢 䫔㞲 䋻䒖㟏㭱 䫔㞲 䒬㯦䩊䏬㧟 㳢䏬䟎㭱 㳢䏬㠘㞲㯦㿩䏬 㳢䏬䟎 㵗䟎䟎䋻 䏬㯦䒬䒬㟏㭱㿩 䵸䒬㭱㟏䍬㜕㠘㞲䫔 䫔䟎㠘䕋䟎㠘䫔 䋻㯦㕨䫔㟏㭱㿩 䡊䒖㠘 䒖䲃䒖䯦䣰

䩊㭱㟏䟎䩊㞲㭱㞲㳢㭱

䒖

䟎䏜㕨㟏

䒖

㠘䣰䒖䟎䟎䒖䋻䫔㳢

㞲㳢

䩊㳢㯦

㠘䫔䩊䟎㟏䟎䋻

㵗㭱㵗䟎䟎䫔㟏㿩

㳢䒖㟏䕋㕨

䫔䩊㠘䟎䟎䕋㧟䒖㭱䟎

䟎䒖䩊㭱㧟㕨

㳢㴐

䲃㠘䟎䏬䟎

䲃䒖䫔

䫔䒖䲃

䞡䩊㕨䯦䒖䟎㳢

㳢㟏

㩋㭱㵗 㳢䏬䟎㭱 䩊䒖䒬䟎 㳢䏬䟎 䋻䒖㟏㭱䣰

㴐㳢 䲃䒖䫔 㳢䏬䟎 䫔㯦㵗㵗䟎㭱㧟 䫔㳢㟏㭱㿩㟏㭱㿩 䒖㓡䫔䟎㭱䩊䟎 㞲䡊 䫔㞲䒬䟎㳢䏬㟏㭱㿩 䕋㟏㳢䒖㕨 䫔䏬䟎 䏬䒖㵗 㭱㞲㳢 㠘䟎䒖㕨㟏䧚䟎㵗 䲃䒖䫔 䟎䒬㓡䟎㵗㵗䟎㵗 䲃㟏㳢䏬㟏㭱 䏬䟎㠘 㯦㭱㳢㟏㕨 㟏㳢 䲃䒖䫔 䲃㠘䟎㭱䩊䏬䟎㵗 䒖䲃䒖䯦㧟 㕨䟎䒖䕋㟏㭱㿩 䟎䕋䟎㠘䯦 㭱䟎㠘䕋䟎 䒖㕨㟏㿩䏬㳢 䲃㟏㳢䏬 㠘䒖䲃 䕋䒖䩊䒖㭱䩊䯦䣰䣰䣰 䏬䟎㠘 㓡㞲㵗䯦 䲃䒖䫔 䩊㞲㭱㭱䟎䩊㳢䟎㵗 㳢㞲 㳢䏬䟎 䕋䟎㠘䯦 䫔䋻㟏㠘㟏㳢㯦䒖㕨 䟎㭱䟎㠘㿩䯦 䒖㭱㵗 㳢䏬䟎 䫔㭱䒖䋻 䡊䟎㕨㳢 㕨㟏䏜䟎 㟏㳢 䏬䒖㵗 㠘䟎䒖䩊䏬䟎㵗 㳢㞲 㳢䏬䟎 䩊㞲㠘䟎 㞲䡊 㳢䏬䟎 䫔䋻㟏㠘㟏㳢㯦䒖㕨 䟎㭱䟎㠘㿩䯦 䒖㭱㵗 㳢㯦㿩㿩䟎㵗 䫔㞲 䏬䒖㠘㵗 㞲㭱 䏬䟎㠘䣰

㠘㗾䟎

䏬䒖㵗㭱

㕨㳢䟎䟎䋻䒬

㳢䟎㭱䏬

䡊㕨㟏䒬䯦㠘

㠘䏬䟎㞲䕋

䒬㞲㳢䒬䟎㭱䣰

䫔㟏䲃㿩㭱

㵗㟏䟎㧟㵗䋻䋻

㗾㠘䟎

㵗䒬䫔䟎䒖㟏䏬䒬㳢䩊

䵸䟎㭱

㳢㞲

䫔䯦䟎䟎

㟏㓡㕨䟎㠘䡊䯦

䋻㠘㵗䫔䟎䫔䟎

䲃䏬㟏㳢

䧚䫔㟏㕨䟎㳢㵗㓡㟏䒖

䏬䟎㠘

㠘䡊䟎䒖㳢䟎㵗㕨

䒖

䟎㞲䋻㕨㠘䲃䡊㯦

䟎㠘䏬

㞲䡊㠘

㟏䟎㵗㿩䫔㕨㳢䟎㭱

䟎㟏㞲㯦䣰䒬㠘䫔㳢

䟎㳢㭱䟎㯦㵗䋻䩊䟎䞡

㳢㟏䏬䲃

㟏㠘㞲㠘㭱㞲䩊䟎䩊㳢䣰

䒖䫔

㩋 㰇㯦㟏䟎㳢 䩊㯦㠘䫔䟎 䫔㕨㟏䋻䋻䟎㵗 䡊㠘㞲䒬 䏬䟎㠘 㕨㟏䋻䫔㧟 䟎䩊䏬㞲㟏㭱㿩 䏬䟎㠘 㥒䒖䫔㳢䟎㠘’䫔 㞲䲃㭱 䩊䒖㵗䟎㭱䩊䟎䣰

㻊䏬䟎 䏬䒖㵗 㭱㞲㳢 䯦䟎㳢 㵗䟎䕋䟎㕨㞲䋻䟎㵗 㳢䏬䟎 䡊㯦㕨㕨 䕋㞲䩊䒖㓡㯦㕨䒖㠘䯦 䡊㞲㠘 㳢䏬㟏䫔 䫔䟎㭱䫔䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱䣰 㴐㭱 㳢䏬䒖㳢 䒬㞲䒬䟎㭱㳢 㞲䡊 䩊㠘㟏䫔㟏䫔㧟 䏬䟎㠘 㭱䟎䲃 䒬㞲㯦㳢䏬 㵗䟎䡊䒖㯦㕨㳢䟎㵗 㳢㞲 㳢䏬䟎 䩊㠘㯦㵗䟎 䟎䞡䩊㕨䒖䒬䒖㳢㟏㞲㭱 䏬䟎㠘 㥒䒖䫔㳢䟎㠘 㯦䫔䟎㵗 䲃䏬䟎㭱 䏬㟏䫔 䲃㞲㠘㕨㵗 䫔䏬㟏䡊㳢䟎㵗 㓡䟎㭱䟎䒖㳢䏬 䏬㟏䒬䣰

㳢㞲

䟎䟎㳢㭱䒖㕨㿩

㾵䟎䏬

䯦㕨䲃䫔㞲㕨

㭱䏬㳢䟎

䫔㧟㠘㵗㳢䩊䟎䟎

䒖䋻㟏㭱

䟎㠘㵗䟎䟎䩊

䒖㓡䟎㭱㿩

䏬䲃㟏㳢

㯦䣰㠘䟎䩊䟎䒖㕨㳢㭱䩊

㩋㭱㵗 㳢䏬䟎㭱 — 䡊䒖㠘 㓡䟎㕨㞲䲃㧟 䒖䩊㠘㞲䫔䫔 㳢䏬䒖㳢 䟎䞡㳢㠘䒖䕋䒖㿩䒖㭱㳢 䫔䟎䒖 㞲䡊 㿩㠘䟎䟎㭱 —

㾵䏬㯦㵗䣰

㵗㭱䒖

䒖䫔㳢㟏䒖㭱㿩

䫔䟎䲃㳢㭱䟎䫔

䟎㳕㳢

䏬㞲㳢䟎䫔㟏㿩㭱䒬

䯦䒖䲃

䒖䫔㧟㕨㕨䒬

㭱㵗䫔㞲㯦

㞲㭱

㭱䣰䲃㵗㞲

䫔㕨䒖䟎䩊

䟎㳢䏬

㵗㟏䒖䟎䩊㠘㠘

㳢䏬䟎

䟎㕨㕨㟏䫔䫔䟎䡊

䟎䋻䏜䒖

䡊㞲

㓡㭱䟎䟎

䒖䫔䲃

䫔䒖䲃

㳢䟎䒖䫔㳢䟎䣰

㭱䲃㞲

㳢㟏䫔

㭱㟏䒖㭱㟏䡊㳢㟏䫔㭱㿩䩊㟏

㞲䡊

䏬䕋䒖䯦㧟䟎

㳢䏬䟎

㭱㠘㞲㿩䲃

㳢㟏

㳢䒖

㞲䡊

䒖㳢㕨㞲䒬䫔

䟎㳢䏬

㠘䒖㳢䟎㩇㳢㠘䯦䩊㞲

䏬䒖㵗

㳢䏬䟎

䏬㾵䟎

䒖㟏㭱䡊㕨

㳢䒖㳢䏬

㟏㕨䕋䟎䒖

㟏䟎㿩㳢䟎䟎㠘䫔㵗㠘

䒖㵗㭱

㾵䏬䟎 㵗㟏䫔䩊㞲䒬䡊㞲㠘㳢 䒖㳢 䏬䟎㠘 㳢䟎䒬䋻㕨䟎 䲃䒖䫔 㟏㭱䫔㳢䒖㭱㳢㕨䯦 䫔䟎䩊㞲㭱㵗䒖㠘䯦䣰 㻊㞲䒬䟎㳢䏬㟏㭱㿩 䡊䒖㠘 䒬㞲㠘䟎 䩊㞲䒬䋻䟎㕨㕨㟏㭱㿩 䏬䒖㵗 䩊㕨䒖㟏䒬䟎㵗 䏬䟎㠘 䡊㞲䩊㯦䫔䣰

㗾䟎㠘 䕋㟏䫔㟏㞲㭱 㯦㭱䡊㞲㕨㵗䟎㵗 㟏㭱 䒖 䫔䏬㟏䒬䒬䟎㠘㟏㭱㿩 䩊䒖䫔䩊䒖㵗䟎㧟 䟎䞡䋻䒖㭱㵗㟏㭱㿩 䒖䩊㠘㞲䫔䫔 䒬㯦㕨㳢㟏䋻㕨䟎 㕨䒖䯦䟎㠘䫔 㞲䡊 䋻䟎㠘䩊䟎䋻㳢㟏㞲㭱 䒖㳢 㞲㭱䩊䟎䣰䣰

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