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F𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥, 𝔞 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔡 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔶, 𝔞 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔲𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱.ℑ𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔪𝔦𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔣-𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱, 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔫𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔶.

𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔰𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔢, 𝔬𝔣 𝔭𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔢. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔴𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩, 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔞𝔡𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱.

ℑ𝔱 𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔶𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔰, 𝔞 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭, ℑ𝔱’𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔶 𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔪𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰, 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔡, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭.

𝔖𝔬 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔫, 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔞𝔯𝔱, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫, 𝔖𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔰𝔫’𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔴, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔢-𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔴.

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