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𝙴𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘𝚜, ¿𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚣 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚞𝚍í𝚊? ¿𝚃𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚒 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚛í𝚘 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘 𝚘 𝚜𝚒 𝚝𝚞𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘𝚜, 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝é𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚊? ¿𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚜, 𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚜, 𝚊𝚛𝚍í𝚊𝚗 𝚖á𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎? 𝙲𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚜í𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚊, 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚕, 𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚊 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚛, 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚒é𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎. 𝙲𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗 𝚗á𝚞𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚘, 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝é 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎, 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚘 𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚌é𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚘. 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚘, 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚣𝚘𝚜, 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚘, 𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚢 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚙𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚒 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚘, 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚒 𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝙼𝚎 𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚊ú𝚗 𝚖á𝚜, 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚞 𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘. 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊ñ𝚘𝚜𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚒 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚊, 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚐é𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚜. 𝚁𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚓𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚢 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚘, 𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎. ¿𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊, 𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗 𝚌𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛? ¿𝚂𝚎𝚛é 𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚛, 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚜? ¿𝚂𝚎𝚛é 𝚝𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚙𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎? 𝚈𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘 𝚜é, 𝚢 𝚝ú 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚘 𝚕𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚜, 𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚣á𝚜 𝚗𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚊 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛.