𝑨𝒎𝒐𝒓. 𝑼𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔. 𝑨𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒍 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒔, 𝒐𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒔, 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒂́𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒍 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒔. 𝑬𝒍𝒍𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒆́𝒏 𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐, 𝒅𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒓𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒚, 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖́𝒏 𝒅𝒊́𝒂 𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊́𝒂 𝒂 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒔. 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒐, 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒍𝒐 𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒐́ 𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂. 𝑼𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒚, 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒐𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒔, 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒐. 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂, 𝒖𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒈𝒐. 𝑨 𝒗𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐, 𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒍 𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒈𝒂 𝒍𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒈𝒂, 𝒔𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒐́𝒏 𝒚𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒆́ 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒅𝒐. 𝑺𝒊́, 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒅𝒐. 𝑹𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒅𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒐́ 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒍𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒊́𝒂.All Rights Reserved
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