𝖠𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝖼𝗈𝗆 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖺𝗌, 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖾. 𝖭𝖺̃𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝖺 𝗎𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗌𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾, 𝖾 𝗈 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾́𝗋𝗂𝗈 𝗌𝗈́ 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗂𝖺 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖺 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗀𝖺. 𝖯𝗈𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾? 𝖭𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗈, 𝖺𝗅𝗀𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗋... 𝖳𝖺𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗓 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖺, 𝖺 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗁𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗏𝗋𝖺𝗌, 𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗈𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗏𝖺𝗆 𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼̧𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗌. 𝖤𝗋𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗈 𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖺 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺, 𝖼𝖺𝖽𝖺 𝗉𝖾́𝗍𝖺𝗅𝖺, 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈́𝗋𝗂𝖺 𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖺, 𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗀𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗑𝖺̃𝗈 𝖺̀ 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖺 𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖺𝖽𝖺.