«𝑁𝑜𝑖 𝑠𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜 𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎, 𝑁𝑜𝑖 𝑠𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜 𝑑𝑖 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖, 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑜 𝑑𝑖 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑐ℎ𝑖 𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑖» ~𝐽𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝐿𝑢𝑖𝑠 𝐵𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑠. 𝐸𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑖 𝑠𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑖 𝑑𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑖 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝑡𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑖 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑖 𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑖 𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑖 𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑝𝑖𝑢̀ 𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑖. 𝑄𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑧𝑧𝑜 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑐𝑖𝑟𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑜, 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑛 𝑙𝑢𝑖 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑎 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑖𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑣𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑖𝑢̀ 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎. 𝑆𝑎𝑟𝑎̀ 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑖 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑖𝑜̀? 𝐿𝑎 𝑠𝑢𝑎 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑖 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑎 𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑣𝑎, 𝑚𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑖 𝑙𝑜 𝑎𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑏