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Kunta, carrying an ax on his shoulder, tilted his head, but Isabelle opened his parasol.
Then he climbed onto Kunta’s other shoulder and said.
[If it’s my thread, you’ll know.]
[Is that possible?]
[I’ve attached a thread to the gods one by one. Kunta to you too.]
[Oh! After all, that’s a cowardly way! Wonderful!!]
Isabelle’s doll-like eyebrows curled into an eyebrow. I didn’t like that he was called a coward at the end of every word.
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