𝑻𝒉𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒊𝒍 ‘𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆
𝑰 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒉 𝒎'𝒓𝒆
𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔.
— 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔
𝒐𝒇 𝒏𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒈𝒔 '𝒓 𝒄'𝒓𝒓𝒖𝒑𝒕'𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒔.
𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏'𝒅 𝒅𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏
𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍’𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒔.
𝑾𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒕𝒉 𝑬𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒖𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍.
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