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𝙴𝚛𝚊 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚟𝚘𝚜𝚊. 𝙾 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚊̃𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙'𝚜.

𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚖 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕, 𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌̧𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚟𝚘́𝚜 𝚎 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊́𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚊̃𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚍𝚊.

- 𝙴𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘, 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛! - 𝙳𝚒𝚣 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚖 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚘 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚊.

- 𝙴𝚞 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚎́𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛! 𝙴𝚞 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚘́𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚘. - 𝚁𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚓𝚊́ 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚊.

- 𝙿𝚘𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚞 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊? 𝙰 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚖, 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒́𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊.

- 𝙴𝚞 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚖𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜, 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚣.

- 𝙽𝙰̃𝙾! 𝙴́ 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚊! 𝚃𝚎𝚖 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚊.

- 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛! 𝙽𝚊̃𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚣 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚒́𝚌𝚒𝚕.

- 𝙽𝚊̃𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚣 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖... 𝚊𝚑 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛... 𝙽𝚊̃𝚘, 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚣.

- 𝙴𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚒 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚊. - 𝙰𝚋𝚊𝚒𝚡𝚊 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚌̧𝚊.

- 𝙾 𝚚𝚞𝚎̂? 𝚅𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊́ 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚜𝚎́𝚛𝚒𝚘. - 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚌̧𝚊 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚌̧𝚊 𝚎𝚖 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚌̧𝚊̃𝚘.

- 𝙴𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚘.

- 𝙴́ 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊, 𝚗𝚊̃𝚘 𝚎́? - 𝙾 𝚕𝚘𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚖𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚖 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚘𝚞. - 𝙴𝚞 𝚟𝚒 𝚘 𝚓𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚕𝚊. 𝙴𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚎̂ 𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚖 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚌̧𝚘𝚞.