𝑄𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑙 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑧𝑖𝑜 𝑒𝑔𝑙𝑖 𝑠'𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑙'𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑜 𝑡𝑟'𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎 𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑒, 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑢𝑜 𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑜, 𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑜 𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑜 𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑜.
𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑙'𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑜 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑜 𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜 𝑙'𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑜, 𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑢𝑠𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑜, 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑙'𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎.
𝐸𝑠𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑜, 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒.
𝑀𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒 𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖 𝑑𝑒𝑖 𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑖 𝑔𝑙𝑖 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖.
𝐺𝑙𝑖 𝑢𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑖 𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑖, 𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑧𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑧𝑎 𝑑𝑖 𝑔𝑖𝑜𝑖𝑎.
𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑖 𝑜𝑐𝑐ℎ𝑖 𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒, 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎̀ 𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑜.
𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑧𝑎.
