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𝓐 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒂.


𝐸𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑖 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎.
𝑁𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑜, 𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛ℎ𝑜


𝑈𝑚 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑙ℎ𝑜, 𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑜 𝑎𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜.


𝐸𝑢 𝑎 𝑎𝑏𝑟𝑖, 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒.
𝐴 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑚? 𝑀𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑎. 𝑁𝑎𝑜 𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎.
𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑖 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎 20 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠. 𝐸𝑢 𝑡𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑜 15 𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑎.
𝐹𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑣𝑎 𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑑𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒.


𝑒𝑢 𝑛𝑎𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑟.
𝐴 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑢 𝑢𝑚 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛ℎ𝑜:
𝑈𝑚 𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑏𝑜 𝑑𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜
𝑆𝑒𝑚 𝑛𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑢𝑚 𝑠𝑢𝑗𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑖 𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑎.


𝐸𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒.. 𝐸𝑢 𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑖.
𝑂 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑜, 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑑𝑜, 𝑛𝑎𝑜 𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑔𝑜 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑑𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑑𝑎𝑟
𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑜.. 𝑉𝑖𝑣𝑖 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑜 𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑚𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑎.
𝑛𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑎 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑜…
𝐸𝑚𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑗𝑎 𝑡𝑎𝑜 𝑖𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑜. 𝑂𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑚 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑎, 𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑚 𝑜𝑠 𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑚 𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎.


𝐴𝑠𝑠: 𝐴𝑙𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑚.