ℐ 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒶𝓃𝓃𝒾 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝒷𝒷𝑜 𝒸𝑒𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓃𝑜 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒾𝑜𝓁𝒶 𝒹'𝒶𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾 𝒶𝓁𝓉𝓇𝒾, 𝓂𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒶̀ 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒸𝒽𝑒́ 𝒶 𝓋𝑜𝓁𝓉𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒 a 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒸𝒽𝒾𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓋𝑜𝓁𝓉𝒶, 𝓅𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝒶𝓅𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑜̀ 𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝓃𝓊𝑜𝓋𝑜 𝓉𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑜.©

𝒞𝑜𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒹𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓅𝒶𝒸𝒾𝓉𝒶̀ 𝑒𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒸𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒾 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑜𝓇𝒾 𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓉𝒾 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓏𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒾.©

𝒩𝑒𝓁𝓁' 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓈𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒸𝒶 𝒾 𝓈𝑜𝑔𝓃𝒾, 𝓂𝒾 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝒶𝒸𝒸𝒾𝑜 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓊𝒶𝓇𝒹𝒶 𝒾𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑒 𝒶𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓁𝓉𝑜 𝓊𝓃 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒾𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓂𝓅𝑜. ℒ' 𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒶 𝒽𝒶 𝓁𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒶𝓏𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓁𝓉𝓇𝑒 𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒾 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓁' 𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓏𝓏𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒. ℰ' 𝓊𝓃' 𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓏𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒶̀.©

ℰ' 𝓈𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓉𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒾𝑜̀ 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜, 𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑜̀ 𝓇𝑜𝓋𝒾 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒾 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜 𝓃𝑒𝓁  𝒸𝒶𝓂𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑜, 𝓂𝒾 𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝑒𝓇𝒶̀ 𝒹𝒾 𝓋𝒶𝑔𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓊𝒹𝒾 𝒹𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝒾 𝒻𝒶𝓇𝑜̀ 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝒸𝒶 𝒶 𝓂𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓊𝓃 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒹𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓋𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾 𝒶𝓁𝓁’𝒶𝓁𝓉𝓇𝑜. ℐ𝓃 𝑜𝑔𝓃𝒾 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑜̀ 𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁’ 𝑜𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑜, 𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓇𝑜̀ 𝒶𝓋𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓁𝒶 𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝒶̀ 𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓃𝑜 𝒶𝒾 𝓅𝑜𝓁𝓂𝑜𝓃𝒾. 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝒸𝒽𝑒’  𝑒̀ 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝓊𝒾 𝓁𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑜. ℐ𝓃𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓇𝑜̀ 𝒾𝓁 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝒸𝒽𝒾 𝓂𝒾 𝓋𝓊𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓇𝒶̀ 𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑒, 𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒶𝓇𝒶̀ 𝓇𝒾𝓅𝒶𝑔𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒶 𝓊𝓃' 𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝒸𝒾𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒶̀ 𝓁𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓃𝓉𝒶 𝒹𝒶 𝓋𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓂𝑒.©

ℐ𝓃 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾 𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾 𝒽𝑜 𝓁' 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑜𝓁𝓉𝒶 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶 𝑒 𝒸𝑒𝓇𝒸𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝓅𝒾𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝑒, 𝒹𝒾 𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝒷𝒷𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒾, 𝒹𝒾 𝒻𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝓊𝓉𝓉𝒾 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑜 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑜. 𝒮𝑜𝓃𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑒𝑔𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒶 𝓊𝓃 𝓅𝑜' 𝒹𝒾 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓏𝓏𝒶 𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓁𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑜, 𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒶̀ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓂𝒶 𝑜 𝓅𝑜𝒾.©

ℐ𝓃 𝒶𝓁𝒸𝓊𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝒸𝒶𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒾𝑜̀ 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝒶 𝓋𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝑒𝓇𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓈𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒾𝓉𝑜 𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓇𝑒.©

𝒞𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓁 𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓉𝒶̀ 𝓇𝒾𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓁𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓊𝑒𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝓊𝓉𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓁𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝒸𝒾 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝒾 𝒹𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑒𝑔𝓃𝒾 𝓆𝓊𝑜𝓉𝒾𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓃𝒾. 𝒩𝑜𝓃𝒹𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓃𝑜 𝒹𝑜𝓅𝑜 𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑒𝑔𝑔𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒾𝓇𝒸𝒶 𝓊𝓃 𝓂𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓅𝓇𝒶𝒻𝒻𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓁𝓁' 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝑜 𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜, 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓃𝑒, 𝑒 𝑜𝑔𝑔𝒾 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓃𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓏𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓂𝒾 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒶 𝓈𝑜𝓅𝓇𝒶𝓉𝓉𝓊𝓉𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒶 𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑜𝒹𝒾𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜. 𝒜𝓁 𝒫𝑜𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒶 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝓏𝓏𝒶 𝒹𝒾 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑒̀ 𝒸𝑜𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒, 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶, 𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓁𝒶 𝓊𝓃 𝓅𝑜’ 𝒹𝒾 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝒹𝑜, 𝒹𝒶𝓁𝓁’𝒶𝒻𝒶. ℳ𝒶𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝓊𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑒𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓁 𝓇𝒾𝓂𝒷𝑜𝓂𝒷𝑜 𝑒𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝒾 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾 𝓈𝒾𝒶𝓃𝑜 𝒹' 𝒶𝓊𝓉𝑜 𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒾, 𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝒾𝓊̀ 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒹𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒾.  𝒫𝓊𝓇𝓉𝑜𝓅𝓅𝑜 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶 𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓇𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒶̀ 𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒, 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝓁𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒶̀ 𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝓁𝒶 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜. ©

𝒩𝑒𝑔𝓁𝒾 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓁' 𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒾𝓂𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓋𝒶 𝒽𝑜 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒸𝑜𝓁𝓉𝒶̀ 𝓃𝑒𝓁 𝒷𝑒𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓁𝑒 𝒾𝒹𝑒𝑒, 𝓁𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒, 𝓁𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒶̀ 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓋𝓇𝑒𝒾 𝓃𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶̀ 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝑜 𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁' 𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒾𝒶𝓁𝒾 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓋𝓇𝑒𝒷𝒷𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓇𝓂𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝑜. ℐ𝓁 𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓇𝓃𝑜 𝑒́ 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓏𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒾 𝑒, 𝒶 𝓋𝑜𝓁𝓉𝑒, 𝓁' 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒶 𝒹𝒾 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓁𝑜𝑔𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒹𝑒 𝓁𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶 𝒹𝒾 𝓈𝑜𝓈𝓉𝑒𝑔𝓃𝑜.

ℐ𝓃𝓋𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝑒̀ 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝑜 𝓃𝑒𝓁 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝒷𝓊𝒾𝑜 𝓅𝒾𝓊̀ 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒻𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑜, 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝑜 𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓃𝑜 𝓁𝒶 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑒  𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓈𝓊𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓂𝒶, 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓁𝒶 𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑜𝒹𝒾𝒶 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒷𝒶 𝒾𝓁 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒾𝑜, 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓇 𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒶 𝒶𝒾 𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒾𝑒𝓇𝒾 𝓅𝒾𝓊̀ 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒾, 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑜𝓃𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓁 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒻𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓁' 𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒶.

𝒮𝑜𝓃𝑜 𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝓋𝑜𝒾 𝒾𝓁 𝓇𝓊𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓃 𝑒̀ 𝓂𝒶𝒾 𝓊𝑔𝓊𝒶𝓁𝑒. 𝒜 𝓋𝑜𝓁𝓉𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝒻𝒻𝒾𝒶, 𝓊𝓇𝓁𝒶, 𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒸𝒽𝒾𝒶, 𝓈𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒶, 𝒶𝓁𝓉𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝑔𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝒶 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓈𝒾𝒶 𝒹𝒾 𝓈𝑜𝑔𝓃𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝑜𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾.

ℐ𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓅𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒 𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓈𝒾 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓃𝓊𝒶 𝓉𝓇𝒶 𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝒸𝒸𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓂𝒾𝒶 𝒯𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶 𝓁𝒶 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒶 𝒹𝒾 𝓊𝓃 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓊𝓉𝑜, 𝓁𝓊𝓃𝑔𝑜 𝑒 𝒶𝒸𝓊𝓉𝑜.

𝒜𝓁 𝒫𝑜𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓁𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑜 𝓈𝒸𝒾𝓇𝑜𝒸𝒸𝑜 𝑒̀ 𝓁𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝓂𝒶 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒹𝑜, 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝓈𝒶𝒷𝒷𝒾𝒶 𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝒶𝒸𝓆𝓊𝒶. 𝒪𝓁𝓉𝓇𝑒 𝓁𝒶 𝒮𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝒟𝒾𝒶𝓋𝑜𝓁𝑜 𝓇𝓊𝑔𝑔𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜.

ℐ𝓁 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝑒̀ 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝒶𝓂𝒶 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒹𝑜, 𝓅𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓏𝒾𝑜𝓈𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓁𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒.

ℐ𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒸𝒾𝑜 𝓈𝒾𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒 𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾. 𝒜 𝓋𝑜𝓁𝓉𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑒𝑔𝑔𝒾𝑜 𝓂𝒾 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓁 𝓇𝓊𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒻𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝒷𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒶.

𝒩𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝓉𝒾 𝒹𝒾 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓁𝓊𝓃𝒾𝑜 𝓊𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓁𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓂𝒶 𝓅𝒾𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝓁' 𝑒𝓅𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶 𝒾𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝓊𝓃 𝒶𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒. 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓁𝑒𝑔𝒾𝑜 𝒹𝒾 𝓁𝒾𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒶̀ 𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓉𝒶̀.

𝒬𝓊𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓋𝑒𝓁𝑒𝑔𝑔𝒾𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒶𝓅𝑒𝓋𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶 𝓋𝑜𝓁𝓉𝒶 𝓂𝑜𝓁𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝓁'𝑜𝓇𝓂𝑒𝑔𝑔𝒾𝑜 𝒹𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓁 𝓁𝒶𝓇𝑔𝑜, 𝓃𝒾𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝒸𝒾𝑜̀ 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝒾 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒹𝒾 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒶̀ 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒶̀ 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝒾 𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓇𝑜̀ 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝑜.  𝒟𝒾 𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜 𝑒̀ 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶 𝓁𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒹𝒾 𝑜𝑔𝓃𝒾 𝓋𝒾𝒶𝑔𝑔𝒾𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑜.