"𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑧𝑎𝑑𝑜... 𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑖 𝑠𝑒𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑚𝑒, 𝑠𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑖 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑒́ 𝑠𝑢𝑎 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒̂𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑜𝑢 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑒, 𝑜𝑢 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑟𝑎́ 𝑎𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜. 𝑀𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑎𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐̧𝑜𝑠𝑜 𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑠𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑑𝑎. 𝑇𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑧, 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑟 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖 𝑐𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑜𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑎̃𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑧𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑠, 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑗𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑚 𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑎𝑟 𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑜, 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛ℎ𝑜𝑠... 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎̃𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎́-𝑙𝑜. 𝑀𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑒́ 𝑒́ 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑎, 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒. 𝐶𝑜𝑚 𝑣𝑜𝑐𝑒́, 𝑒́ 𝑜 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑎̃𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑜𝑙ℎ𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑖, 𝑠𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑒-𝑙𝑜. 𝐼𝑟𝑜́𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑜. 𝑀𝑎𝑠... 𝑠𝑎𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑎? 𝑇𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑒́𝑚 𝑡𝑒̂𝑚 𝑠𝑢𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑧𝑎... 𝑒 𝑒𝑢 𝑎𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖 𝑎 𝑎𝑚𝑎́-𝑙𝑎𝑠. 𝐸𝑢 𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜, 𝑒𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑜𝑔𝑜 𝑒𝑚 𝑚𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑜́𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑐̧𝑎̃𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑒-𝑙𝑜 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑜."
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