𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓎, 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈, 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝑔𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓊𝒹𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓈, 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝒶𝒹 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝒷𝒷𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓊𝓇𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝒜 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔- 𝑅𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔-𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔-All Rights Reserved