I seated and brought minharespirao the gallop, to the ouviz it to say that it would count its history. It says that oacontecido, the finding, finds it. — Why one histriaque if does not count alone? I say the principle, forgive the girl. The girl does not know more as to count. She is made of umahistria thus, that the letters go leaving, does not know well the way and if perdeentre as many trees. Rocks also. But as the poet says, in the way it they caminhotem the sufficient one of them. Thus it decides the girl who polishes of rock in rock.
Perdidaanda, walks and seems to arrive the erroneous places. It beats to the doors and question quemmoram in the houses. It hears the barulhos, it feels the cheiros and it knows that in it is lugareserrados. It feels itself badly and she does not want more. It goes walking in the ansiedadenormal to have joined a hut to lu and for there, in the end of the street, comseus bare-footed feet, it stops.
— It has somebody for there? For it I smell good of cake deabacaxi knows that it is in the certain place. But the anxiety will be aquietar pelaresposta of its strokes the doors. Yes All the times that I passed poraquela street, I felt a cold internal, as if could not enter, and I could not. Eera in such a way the cold that nor would dare to try. Then I observed, and I waited, and I waited, in go. Nobody lode. It observed me to Ovento, I I know. no matter how hard it did not believe, I not to queriaentrar without seeing it. But because he does not matter how much I only cried out or for qualnome called I it, I would deny it to it. He knows, nor always the street foiassim.