𝙾𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚣 𝚘𝚌𝚣𝚢 𝚒 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚣𝚒𝚜𝚣 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚘́𝚓. 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚐𝚕𝚊̨𝚍𝚊𝚜𝚣 𝚠 𝚘𝚔𝚗𝚘. 𝙳𝚘 𝚜́𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚞 𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚣𝚌𝚣𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚔𝚘. 𝚆𝚣𝚛𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚠𝚢𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚣𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚜𝚣 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚗𝚎 𝚐𝚊ł𝚎̨𝚣𝚒𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚣𝚊𝚓𝚊̨𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚙𝚛𝚣𝚎𝚣 𝚠𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚛. 𝙽𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚃𝚠𝚘𝚓𝚎 𝚖𝚢𝚜́𝚕𝚒 𝚣𝚊𝚌𝚣𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚓𝚊̨ 𝚙ł𝚢𝚗𝚊̨𝚌́ 𝚓𝚊𝚔 𝚛𝚠𝚊̨𝚌𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚔. 𝚆𝚢𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣́𝚗𝚒𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚣𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚣 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜𝚣𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚖𝚢𝚜ł𝚢 𝚒 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚗𝚊 𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚣𝚔𝚎̨ 𝚣 𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚓𝚜𝚌𝚊. 𝙽𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚣̇𝚎𝚜𝚣 𝚞𝚜𝚗𝚊̨𝚌́ - 𝚘𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚌́ 𝚠 𝚔𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎̨ 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚣𝚎𝚗́. 𝙿𝚛𝚣𝚢𝚝𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚣 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚣𝚔𝚒 𝚒 𝚙𝚛𝚘́𝚋𝚞𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚣 𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚌́ 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚠 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎̨𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚞𝚜𝚣𝚊. 𝚂ł𝚢𝚜𝚣𝚢𝚜𝚣 𝚝𝚢𝚔𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚣𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚊. 𝚃𝚢𝚔𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚣 𝚐ł𝚘𝚜́𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚓 𝚒 𝚐ł𝚘𝚜́𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚓... 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚣 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖 𝚣𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚖 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨, 𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚣̇𝚎𝚜𝚣 𝚣𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌́ 𝚖𝚢𝚜́𝚕𝚒. 𝙻𝚎𝚣̇𝚢𝚜𝚣 𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚣𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚞, 𝚌𝚣𝚎𝚔𝚊𝚓𝚊̨𝚌 𝚗𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚍𝚣𝚊̨𝚌𝚢 𝚜́𝚠𝚒𝚝. 𝙲𝚣𝚞𝚓𝚎𝚜𝚣 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚓 𝚣𝚊 𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚊. 𝚆 𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚝𝚊 𝚍𝚣𝚒𝚠𝚗𝚊 𝚠𝚊̨𝚝𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚠𝚘𝚜́𝚌́ 𝚒 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚣𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚣𝚞𝚔𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞 𝚠ł𝚊𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚣̇𝚢𝚌𝚒𝚊. 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚣 𝚓𝚞𝚣̇ 𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚠𝚜𝚣𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚔𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚜́𝚌́. 𝙲𝚑𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚣 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚌́.
𝙰𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚣.
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,,𝚆𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚣 𝚌𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚒 𝚓𝚊𝚔 𝚣̇𝚢𝚌𝚒𝚎 𝚍𝚘ł𝚞𝚓𝚎? 𝙼𝚘́𝚠𝚒 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ - 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚗𝚘, 𝚒 𝚙ł𝚢𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚎̨ 𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚓."
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𝚆 𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚣𝚒 𝚝𝚛𝚣𝚎𝚋𝚊 𝚛𝚣𝚞𝚌𝚊𝚌́ 𝚔𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚖𝚒 :')
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