O texto a seguir foi usado como prova e apresentada ao ministério em Março de 1996.

3 𝚍𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 1993

𝙷𝚘𝚓𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎ç𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛. 𝚀𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚒 𝚘 𝚂𝚛. 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚑ã 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚘 𝚒𝚗í𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚍𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊, 𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚞 𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊. 𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊. 𝙴𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚒𝚍é𝚒𝚊. 𝚃𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛 é 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚘 𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚊.

𝙿𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎, 𝚃𝚘𝚖 𝚘 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘, 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚑𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘. 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚊, 𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘, 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚟𝚒 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛. 𝙼𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚋𝚒𝚍𝚊 𝚎 𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊ç𝚊𝚘 𝚍𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚒 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜. 𝙱𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘. 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚎 𝚘 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚂𝚛. 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚞 𝚏𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒çã𝚘. 𝙰𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜, 𝚜ó 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛ó𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚜.

5 𝚍𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 1993

𝙰 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚜, 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚊 𝚊 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊, 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚊. 𝙴𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚘 𝚂𝚛. 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚒ç𝚘𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚜, 𝚎𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘, 𝚓𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖 𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚟á-𝚕𝚊 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒çã𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚘.

6 𝚍𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 1993

𝙰𝚕𝚐𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚘, 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎ç𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚂𝚛. 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚘, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚒 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚝é 𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗çõ𝚎𝚜 𝚎 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚊, 𝚊𝚕é𝚖 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝á 𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊. 𝙾 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊 𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚘, 𝚊𝚝é 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚎 𝚘 𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚑𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊, 𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚘 𝙼 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚊 é 𝚜í𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝é𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕ê𝚜. 𝙴𝚞 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚘, 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚒çã𝚘 𝚝ã𝚘 𝚜é𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚝ã𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊.

8 𝚍𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 1993

𝙽ã𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖, 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚒á𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚎 𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚘 𝚂𝚛. 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚓𝚘 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚎, 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚣 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕.

𝙾 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘 𝚓á 𝚎𝚜𝚝á 𝚖𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚚𝚞𝚒, 𝚏𝚞𝚐𝚒𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚒𝚘 𝚍𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕.

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎ç𝚊𝚛, 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚘𝚜 𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚗𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚕. 𝙼é𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞, 𝚎𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚒. 𝚂𝚎. 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚘 𝚕𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚛, 𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚝é 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚊 𝚌â𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞á𝚛𝚒𝚊, 𝚜𝚎 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚕ê𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚘 𝚎𝚞 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘. 𝙰𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚜í𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚜, 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚛𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚑𝚘, 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚘. 𝙾 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚛𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝚜í𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚒 𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚍𝚎, 𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚞𝚖 𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚊. 𝙴𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎ç𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚖 𝚟𝚘𝚣 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚊 𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚞𝚖 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐ã𝚘, 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚞 𝚟𝚒 𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚊𝚛.

𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚞𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘, 𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚞, 𝚜𝚎𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚘𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚜 𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚞, 𝚎𝚞 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚟𝚊 𝚝ã𝚘 𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚒 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚎𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚊, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎.

𝙴𝚞 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚕𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚞𝚖 𝚜𝚎𝚖 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘, 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚍í𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘 𝚎 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚊, 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚓á é 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚛.

9 𝚍𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 1993

𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚞, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚜ó 𝚟𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚊. 𝙴𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚙𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚘 𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚜. 𝙾 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚖, 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚒 𝚘 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐ã𝚘 𝙳𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚍𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝚎𝚖 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚊 𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚑ã𝚘, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚞𝚖𝚊 𝚕á𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎.

𝙾𝚞𝚟𝚒 𝚂𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚊, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚛 𝚙𝚛ó𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚘 𝚊 𝚋𝚊í𝚊. 𝙰𝚌𝚑𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚒 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜. 𝙽ã𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚛. 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚎 𝚖ã𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚘.

11 𝚍𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 1993

𝙵𝚞𝚐𝚒 𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚗𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚒 𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚒, 𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚖 𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚘𝚜, 𝚊𝚕é𝚖 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚖 𝚌í𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚜, 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚖𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚘 𝚕𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚛. 𝙰𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚛. 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚒 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜ã𝚘. 𝙼𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚛.

15 𝚍𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚣𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚎 1993

𝙵𝚊𝚣 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚊. 𝙰 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚖𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛, 𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚒 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚑á 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛, 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚒 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘 𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘. 𝙰𝚕é𝚖 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚘, 𝚏𝚞𝚒 𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚖 𝚕𝚎ã𝚘 𝚍𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊, 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚑𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊, 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚝ã𝚘 𝚝ã𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚝ã𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚖 𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚜.

𝙴𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊 ú𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊 𝚗𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗ç𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚞é𝚖 𝚊 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊 𝚊𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚑𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚒 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚞 𝚎𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖, 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚖𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚘 𝚎 𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚘, 𝚖𝚎𝚞 ú𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚓𝚘 é 𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎 𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛ó𝚒 𝚍𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚘.

Á 𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎𝚞 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘 𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚙𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚛 𝚗ã𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚖í𝚕𝚒𝚊.

Não achei as fotos que eu tinha editado mas acho que dá pra entender