𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢'𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺. 𝘛𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘪𝘷𝘺-𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘫𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺, 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴, 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.
𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘤. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥; 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘣𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘸. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘴.
𝘈𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘤, 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵.
𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢'𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵-𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳. 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘌𝘮𝘮𝘢'𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵.
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