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THURSDAY, FEB. 8, 1940 THE STORY CHAPTER 1—Lovely. independent Autumn Dean, returning home to British Columbia from abroad without her father’s knowledge, •top* at the home of Hector Cardigan, an aid family friend. He tells her that she should not have come home, that things Have changed. Arriving home at the "Castle •tf the Norns," she is greeted lovingly by her father, Jarvis Dean, who gives her to understand that she is welcome—tor a short visit Her mother, former belle named Milli eent Odell, has been dead for years. Autumn Sinot understand her father’s attitude. ugh gives him to understand that she Is ne for good. She has grown tired of life fa England, where she lived with an aunt CHAPTER II—Riding around the estate with her father. Autumn realizes that he has changed. Between them they decide, how ever, to give a welcoming dance at the castle. When the night of the dance arrives. Autumn meets Florian Parr, dashing, well educated young man of the countryside. Late in the evening Autumn leaves the dance, rides horseback to the neighboring ranch where she meets Bruce Landor, friend and champion of her childhood days. He £k«s her to see his mother, an invalid. His thar Is dead, thought to have killed him self. As soon as his mother sees Autumn •he commands Bruce to take her away, that death follows In the wake of the Odells. Autumn is both saddened and perplexed by the Invalid’s tirade. Bruce, apologetic, can offer no reason for his mother’s attitude. CHAPTER III—Auftmn calls again on Hector Cardigan—this time to find out the reason for Mrs. Landor's outburst. From nia conversation she inferred that Geoffrey Landor killed himself because he loved Millicent Dean, her mother. Meanwhile, Bruce Landor rides to the spot where his father’s body was found yean before. There meets Autumn, who. leaving Hector, was •earching for a lost child. Bruce had found the child, and there Autumn and he talk of their families. They agree that her mother and his father loved each other deeply—and that their love is the cause of present antagonism. CHAPTER IV—Florian Parr, at the Castle for dinner, proposes to Autumn. She re fuses him. The next day Autumn rides to ward the Landor ranch. She meets Bruce 1B a herder’s cabin. There they declare their love for each other, and determine to stand together against everyone who might eome between them. CHAPTER V—Autumn tells her father that she is going to marry Bruce. She Is aghast to see his reactipn, and is agonized to hear him whisper that Geoffrey Landor did not take his ewn life. He tells her the story. Millicent, his wife, and Geoffrey Landor nad fallen in love with each other. But Milllcent would not break her mar riage vows. Meeting Landor one day in a secluded spot, Jarvis Dean was forced to fight with him. Landor is accidentally killed by his own gun. CHAPTER VI—Autumn knows then that everything is ended between Bruce and herself. She goes to call on the Parr family, where she meets Elinor and Linda, Florian’s sisters. Florian again tells her how much he loves her, but she pays Httle attention to him. She likes the Parr family, includ ing Florian, but cannot help comparing the polo-playing, light-hearted youth to Bruce Landor. Florian is ‘"good company," but she feels little real affection for him. He realizes that, and tells her she will change. Linda, Florian’s sister, is in love with Bruce, but to no avail. He pays little at tention to her. CHAPTER VII—Bruce attends a party that night given by the Parrs. Autumn purposely ignores Bruce. Bewildered, he cannot understand. Following an accident, he carries her to the garden, where she tells him the episode in the herder’s cabin was merely a game, that she was not her self. In this w’ay. she believes, she can forget—and make Bruce forget—their love. Bruce is stunned by Autumn’s actions. He knows she cannot have changed overnight, but is forced to believe that she is not the same girl who called on him at his cabin. CHAPTER Vm—Months pass, and neither Bruce nor Autumn can forget each other. Watching a card game one day, Bruce overhears a scurrilous remark made about Autumn. He administers a beating to the speaker, one Curly Belfort. He is warned that Belfort will try to even the score. CHAPTER IX—Jarvis Dean upbraids his daughter for giving anyone an excuse to talk about her. Later she meets Hector, who tells her that he will have something to say when the right time comes. The next day Bruce’s foreman drives to the Dean ranch and tells Autumn that 30 of the Landor prize sheep have been poisoned. Bruce is away from home temporarily. Sus picion points definitely at Belfort. Autumn knows that Bruce whipped him when he overheard the foul remark made at the card game, and knows she is indirectly the cause of Bruce’s sheep being poisoned. Heartbroken. Autumn knows she cannot hope to repay him. CHAPTER X—Jarvis Dean asks Bruce to call on him. and offers to pay him for the loss of his sheep. Bruce, leaving, refuses to take the money. Autumn hears of his call, and goes to visit him. He tells her that they cannot be friends, and his ac tions prove to her that he has lost both his love and respect for her. CHAPTER XI—Autumn admits failure to herself, and tells her father she plans on leaving. He offers to tell Bruce the truth, knowing she loves him, but she will not allow him to do it. Jarvis decides he will sell the ranch and join her in the fall. They will visit relatives in England. Neither are cheerful about the venture. Jarvis Dean knows it will be the end of everything for him to leave the country he loves and helped build. Autumn realizes she cannot forget Bruce Landor by going back to the artificial, purposeless life she had known in England with her aunt. CHAPTER XU—Florian invites Autumn to a dance, where they meet Bruce and Hector. Hector lectures to Bruce, but to no avail. Early in the evening Autumn asks Florian to take her home. The next day Autumn drives to the Parr hunting lodge where she is to meet Florian and his sister. Florian is alone, and Autumn demands that he take her home. Before going they de cide to prepare lunch. In the meantime, Jarvis Dean, attempting to save a sheep herder, has been Killed in a stampede. Bruce hurries to the Parr lodge, where he finds Autumn and Florian—alone. CHAPTER XIII—Autumn calls on Hector, who gives her several letters written by her mother. Then, in answer to Hector's invitation, Bruce calls on him. He explains to Bruce why Autumn has been acting in a strange manner, that it was merely to save her lather and Bruce, himself. He tells Bruce the real facts about his father's death, and Bruce realizes that Autumn has courageously acted a role so that he would not be hurt more than he has been. Bruce Landor, in loose gray flan nels, swung his considerable length of limb out of his modest automo bile and proceeded carelessly up the steep steps to Hector Cardigan’s door. He was somewhat mystified, though he had resisted any suspi cion of intrigue, by the urgency with which Hector had pressed him to come to dinner. Hector, obviously at a tension, ushered him in, took his top coat and hat and hung them on the rather in secure rack in the hall, a rack which, Bruce supposed, one should admire as having belonged to Cleo patra, or perhaps Confucius. “I’m glad you came, my boy,” Hector said, drawing himself up sol emnly and looking at Bruce with a penetrating eye. “Come along in. 1 have an appetizer waiting for you.” “Right, Hector!” Bruce said, fol lowing his host into the dining room where one end of a long refectory table of solid, gloomy old oak was spread tastily, with fine linen ancl r’.PROLOGUE z TO LOVE MfMARTHA OSTENSO silver and china, and a sm array of edibles. Bruce had here, always, a dis concerting feeling that he was about to see the wraiths of antiquity emerge from the draperies on the walls and repossess with jealous hands these treasures that furbished Hector’s home. He stood by while Hector filled two glasses, one of which he handed his guest with a courtly bow. “To good fellowship, my boy!” Hector proposed, and held his glass for Bruce to touch it with his own. They drained their glasses at once and Bruce held his forward with a smile. “One more, Hector—to the spirits of the past!” He waved a hand to ward the tapestried walls as he spoke. Hector looked at him quickly, then filled the glasses again with an ex citement in his movements that caused Bruce to wonder. But he smiled across the top of his glass as he bowed once more to Bruce and drank. “Well,” he said, when the glasses were empty again, “you must be ready for supper, my boy. Let’s sit in.” “I hope I shall never be hungrier,” Bruce replied and took the chair to which his host invited him with a wave of the hand. The wine was excellent, as were the cold meats and the salads. Hec tor’s first excitement seemed to sub side as the meal progressed, and he talked in a leisurely fashion. They talked of Jarvis Dean’s death and the impressive funeral that had followed, of the Dean estate and of Autumn’s plans to live in England— but always in an impersonal tone that gave Bruce no hint of what was in the old man’s mind. When they rose from the table, Hector spread a cloth tidily over the dishes and led Bruce into the drawing room, closing the dining room door behind him. “The skeletons will be at the feast,” Bruce thought, smiling to himself. The evening having turned cool, Hector had kindled a small blaze of pine logs in the Dutch tiled fire place, and now they seated them selves before it with their brandy and cigarettes. “I suppose you would be uncom fortable in the presence of modern furniture,” Bruce remarked, glanc ing idly about the room. “You have lived so long with the ghosts of the past.” A strange glow warmed Hector’s eyes. “In more ways than one, my boy,” he observed pointedly. “But I have never permitted my ghosts to haunt me. That Elizabethan wine cup, now—” he pointed to an elab orately wrought chalice that stood on the top of a china closet—“who knows but what the death of some gallant courtier may have been drunk from its brim? But does it make the cup less beautiful, less precious to our time?” “Rather not,” Bruce replied. “On the contrary—” “The past,” Hector said, warming to his subject, “is a dim avenue down which we may walk and find the diverging paths of terror and beauty and passion. If we stand at the entrance to that avenue and peer within, remote times telescope into our own immediate past, so that with clear eyes* we may note that the events of antiquity and of a few decades ago have the same values. Or do you follow me, sir?” Bruce regarded his host with mounting curiosity. “I believe I do,” Bruce said, swept involuntarily into Hector’s stately mood. Hector waved a fine brown hand toward the Spierinx tapestry on the wall to their left. “The accom plished fact of the past,” he con tinued, “may be compared to a tap estry like that—upon which we can look with disinterested sympathy and compassion and admiration at the quaint desires and ambitions and tragedies and loves of our fore fathers. To the rational mind even a generation ago is such a tapestry, my boy.” Hector was leading studiously to something. His oratory was not without a definite object, of that Bruce was sure. He settled himself in his chair and resolved to wait patiently for the disclosure of his purpose. “Do you remember that line from The Tempest? ‘What’s past is pro logue.’ You will excuse me,” he apologized suddenly, “—I am an old man—and given to romantic indul gences.” Bruce smiled. “Go ahead, Hec tor! I’ve had some such ideas in my own mind, though I’ve never been able to put them into words.” Hector favored him with a shrewd glance. “Of course you have, my bey. Of course you have! You have thought of the past that lies be hind you, no doubt—your own fa ther's death, for example.” Bruce tossed his cigarette into the fire. “It was that I had in mind, Hector,” he admitted. There was a brief silence in which Hector leaned forward and turned his brandy glass thoughtfully about in his fingers. “Would you mind it very much if I asked you something about that?” he s^M finallx* “There is nothing much that I can tell you, Hector,” Bruce replied. “You probably know more about it than I do.” “Have you any very clear opin ion concerning how your father came to his death?” Hector asked abruptly. “I have understood that he took his own life—because of his love for —for another woman,” Bruce re turned. “You know that?” “I have put two and two together, Hector,” Bruce replied bluntly. “I know they were in love—the rest I have guessed.” “You have talked with Autumn about it?” “A little—a very little—one night just after she came back,” Bruce admitted. “You came to that conclusion to gether, then?” Hector asked. “I hope you don’t mind my question ing you in this way. It’s scarcely good manners in a host.” “It can’t make the slightest dif ference, Hector,” Bruce replied. “I see no reason why you and I should stand on ceremony.” “Certainly not! Certainly not! Be cause of that, I mean to tell you the truth about that episode, if you can bear the telling of it.” Bruce bit meditatively at his un der lip while his eyes studied Hec tor’s face. “I’m of age, Hector,” he said. “I guess I can stand hearing it—if you can tell it.” The old man drained his glass and set it on the table. “Then—listen until I’m quite through with it,” he said. Bruce felt ridiculously like a child who was about to be told the facts of life for the first time. But in spite of his mildly derisive mood, the piquant articulateness of Hec tor’s ancient furniture and clocks and silver and porcelain gave him a strangely warm feeling of recep tivity. However shocking Hector's disclosures were to be, it seemed true to him now at least—whether or not the mellow personality of the room had hypnotized him—that the past was the past, yesterday flowing back into the Renaissance, into the Middle Ages, into the lush glow of prehistoric times, sealed and sepa rate from today. Three clocks, in various shadowed recesses of the room, struck eleven. Bruce had heard all of Hector’® story, and the two men had sat for minutes without speaking a word. Hector got up from his chair, looked briefly at the youthful figure seated across from him, elbows propped on knees, head resting on hands, and poured out two more drinks of brandy. “A night-cap, my boy,” Hector said sturdily, as he offered the glass to Bruce. Bruce came suddenly out of his reverie, and took the glass from Hector, than sat for a moment star ing into the sparkling liquor. “How much of this does Autumn know?” he asked. “Everything I have told you,” Hector replied. “I see,” Bruce said quietly. “Did you tell her?” “Jarvis Dean told her—one night —soon after she came back.” “You don’t happen to remember— about what night that was?” Hector thought for a moment. “Not very clearly. She called here the next morning—I think—on her way to visit the Parrs.” “That was on her first visit, wasn’t it?” “I believe it was,” Hector told him. “It must have been,” Bruce said. “It just about killed the girl, I guess.” Hector looked at him for a mo ment. “Why do you think she has been playing the fool ever since?” Bruce tossed off the brandy and set his glass aside. “It’s a crazy world,” he said. “One night—only a week ago—I learned how it feels to want to kill a man.” Old Hector, standing above him, raised his eyebrows. A light seemed to dawn in his eyes and he smiled whimsically down upon the roughly tousled head of his guest. “That was good for your soul, my boy,” he observed. “You learned “It just about killed the girl, I guess.” something that ought to mean much to you in the future.” Later, when Bruce got into his car, Hector stood within the little, cowl-like porch of his abode and noted that the Milky Way was a pearly bridge built from mountain top to dark mountain top. Bruce called a good night and Hector waved a response. And as the car sped away he looked up at the sky again and thought how much young er the stars had been when he was young. CHAPTER XFV AuLumjQ_si.alked qctosjs the grounds the BLUFFTON NEWS, BLUFFTON, OHIO to the Willmar cottage, her wide- I souls who, with the toil of their brimmed leghorn hat in her hand, I hands and the unquestioning cour the light, warm wind blowing the I age of their spirits, had brought skirt of her white organdie dress I richness and well-being to this val into a billow about her. As she ap- I ley. And now that community was proached the cottage, three children I to be disrupted, flagrantly, ruthless rose from the tall field of white dai- I ly, with no thought of the injustice sies that grew in the hollow be- I that was being done to these hum tween the Castle and the foreman’s I ble people whose loyalty to Jarvis lodge. The Willmar brood—Dickie, I Dean was no part of the bargain Simmy and Laura—started toward I that Snyder was making. In that her with excited cries, their hands I brief moment Autumn looked in full of the white daisies they had I ward upon herself and saw that in been gathering. Trotting behind I her pampered life she had taken them came the ubiquitous Mo-mo, I these honest folk for granted, just still possessed of his woolly tail, and I as carelessly she had taken for bearing himself with considerably I granted the substantial revenue more dignity than when he had gone I from her father’s estate. Here was wandering with Simmy in the early I a heritage from the past which she Spring. I had not recognized. Autumn stooped and gathered the I “I know, Mrs. Willmar,” Autumn children into her arms, then turned I said at last. "Mr. Snyder is being and stretched her hand to rub Mo- I very difficult about it—though, of mo’s velvety nose. I course, he is not altogether free to Laura, the ten-year-old, pressed I do as he chooses. He must meet her blonde head close against Au- I the wishes of his clients. But they tumn’s cheek and wound her arm I will never find anyone better than tightly about her neck. I Tom to manage this place. I have “I don’t want you to go ’way, Au- I told them so.” tumn,” she said, her voice full of I "There’s precious little comes of pleading. “Mamma says we’ll have I telling people what they don’t want to go away, too, if you go. We don’t I to hear, Miss Autumn,” Mrs. Will want to go.” I mar replied. Autumn’s eyes darkened with the I “I know,” Autumn said, anxiety she had been feeling for I don’t want you to worry, the past week. “Nonsense, dear!” I worst comes to the worst, she protested. “You will stay here I see to it that you and Tom no matter where I go.” I good position before I leave.” Dickie and Simmy broke into a I Mrs. Willmar had placed the cook duet of lament. “We can’t have I ies in a pan and turned now to put Mo-mo any more. The man says I them into the oven. When she he’s goin’ to take Mo-mo.” I straightened again, she looked at “Oh, you dear sillies!” Autumn I Autumn with a small, sad smile, scolded them. “No man is going to I “That’s awfully kind of you, Miss take Mo-mo. Come along, let’s go I Autumn,” she said. “But you in and see mother.” I shouldn’t trouble yourself about us, With a warm little-boy hand in I really. We shall get along—some each of hers, and with Laura walk- I how. And it isn’t so much a ques ing sedately ahead of her and Mo- I tion of where we’ll go as it is—just mo following closely behind, Autumn I our leaving here. The Laird was proceeded to the Willmar cottage. I always too kind to us, I guess. He lt was baking day for Mrs. Will-1 he spoiled us. No other place will mar. As Autumn entered the kitch- I ever seem like home to me. You en with the children, the woman I see, I got my health back here turned from the table where she I ancj my fW0 youngest were born in had been rolling out cookie pastry. I this cottage. It makes a kind of The troubled look in her eyes I difference—to know that we’re leav changed swiftly to a resolute smile I ing home as she dusted the flour from her hom(_, The words cut ,?HS’ —a When the children had lugged the sheep out of the house and had gone romping into the yard, Autumn seat ed herself beside the kitchen table and Mrs. Willmar went out the cookies with the baking-powder can. “Tom says you’ll be soon again, Miss Autumn,” she said I quietly. I “Not for another two weeks or I so,” Autumn told her. “There is a I lot to do with straightening every- I thing up in a place like this.” I "Ah, dear I I don’t know what I we’re going to do!” on cutting I cover of a I JL leaving us Autumn glanced quickly at her and saddened. Tom Willmar’s wife was a wistful-eyed little woman who had won her way back to health when she had come to live here ten years ago. The Dean ranch had meant life itself to her. And now— the fear of being ousted from her contentment and her modest secur ity haunted her eyes. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, Mrs. Willmar,” Autumn said gently. The woman turned her face to ward her in an utter hopelessness that wrung Autumn’s heart. “Talking about it won’t change anything, I’m afraid, Miss Autumn,” she replied resignedly. “Snyder was talking to Tom last night in town. He’s a hard man, that Snyder.” “What was he saying, Mrs. Will mar?” Autumn asked. “Tom told him he’d like to stay on here—it’s been home to us for over ten years now. But Snyder says his clients, as he calls them, have plans of their own and there won’t be any more place for us here.” Autumn clasped her hands in her lap. For days, ever since the eve ning of her last conference with Snyder and the men who were con sidering the purchase of the ranch with all its stock and equipment, her mind had dwelt almost constant ly upon the Willmars, and Hannah, and poor old Absolom Peek, and the others who had given their years of faithful service to Jarvis Dean. At the outset of her negotiations with Snyder, Autumn had supposed that her father’s old dependents would remain where they were and go about their work as they had always done. Hannah, of course, would have to be looked after, but Autumn had already resolved to take her along with her and make her remaining years as comfortable as she could in the service of Aunt Flo. Snyder had been as diplomatic as possible. He was anxious to complete the sale without delay and in a manner that would be quite satisfactory to both parties to the transfer. When Au tumn had expressed her wish that the staff should remain to carry on the work, Snyder had been unwill ing to commit himself. His clients, of course, would have plans of their own. He would do what he could, certainly, to bring them to accept her suggestion. In the end, Autumn had refused to put her name to anything until the point was satis factorily settled. The transaction had been delayed—and Snyder had been annoyed. Autumn looked at the pitifully brave smile on the face of Mrs. Willmar. This little woman was only one of that,smgll conimUPiiX 9? “But I If the I shall have a I across Autumn’s heart with a cruel -Cood M»«, Missi Autumn.” The woman could never Sh? 1 ufS raad I w»‘ ‘hey meant to her. ot pale hair back from her warm brow. I cOurse •■My goodness you young ones 1 ..Oh/ Mrs Willmar,.. she cried. shouldr. hang on Mss Autumn’s onl how-how terri dress that way Don let them do U. bl undeJland,.. Come away, Dickie—your hands are I a sight!” I (To be continued) Autumn laughed and rumpled I Dickie’s hair. “Hands and dresses I Ohio farm mortgage indebtedness can be washed, can’t they, Dickie?” Iwas reduced $66,000,000 in the dec she said. lade 1930-39. H. R. Moore, rural Mo-mo’s hoofs clattered across the I _____ kitchen floor to a basket of vegeta- “onomics ^P’rtment, Ohio State bles that stood in one corner. I University, says the process of ad “Simmy—look after Mo-mo.” Mrs. I justment between Ohio mortgages Willmar sighed wearily, and wiped I and land values is now about com her face with her apron. “If you I pieted. children can’t mind that lamb he’ll 1 have to be kept outside. He’s get ting too big to be in the house, any how.” B- titiiimiHHHHiiimiimNiiMNmiYmiimtttmii LOCAL AND LONG DISTANCE HAULING Every Load Insured STAGER BROS. Bluffton, Ohio iHtnmfF POULTRYMEN NOTICE Leghorn baby cockerels for broilers every Monday. Priced to sell. Pandora Hatchery Eldon Hilty, Prop. Mt. Cory Mrs. Pearl Jordan opened her home to seventeen members of the King's Daughters class of the Evangelical Sunday school last Wednesday after noon. Devotions were led by Mrs. Anna Keel. A poem "What Wouldn’t It Now,” was read by Mrs. Marl Fel lers. A reading "All Great People are Religious,” by Daniel Poling was read by Mrs. A. E. King. Plans were made to make a comfort. Contests were enjoyed and prizes were won by Mrs. Melvin Williamson and Mrs. F. S. Garlinger. Mrs. Williamson was a guest. Refreshments were served. Mrs. Arlo Doty and Mrs. Anna Keel were assistant hostesses. The W. M. S. of the Evangelical church held their regular monthly meeting at the home of Mrs. W. A. Nonnamaker on Thursday afternoon. Mrs. Nonnamaker had charge of pro gram. Theme: "Follow Thou Me In Fellowship.” During the devotional period a poem, "Lord, I Will Follow” was read by the leader. Notes were read by Mrs. A. E. King and current events were given by Mrs. M. S. Stein inger. Two chapters from the study book, “Ways and the Way” were re viewed by Mrs. H. C. Beagle. Two poems entitled, “The Friendly Place” and "One Mountain” were read by Mrs. A. E. McVey. Mrs. W. S. King presented the Prayer Calendar. The guests included Mrs. M. E. Moyer, Mrs. Anna Keel and Mrs. W. B. Kramer. Refreshments served were in keeping with the southern moun tain region. Mrs. M. V. Turner has been very ill for a couple of weeks. Mrs. Pearl Jordan and daughter Thelma attended the funeral of an uncle, Wilbur Herrod at Belle Center last Friday afternoon. They were over night guests of Mr. and Mrs. Alex Jordan. Mr. and Mrs. James Hutchinson and daughter Jane Ann and Mrs. Nettie Sheldon attended the funeral of Mich ael Walter in Rawson on Saturday afternoon. Mrs. C. W. Bailey is spending a few days with Mrs. Pearl Jordan. Mr. and Mrs. Fred Klein and sons and Mr. and Mrs. E. E. Jackson of Findlay spent Sunday with Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Garlinger. Mrs. W. S. Longbrake spent Satur day evening with Mrs. Larena Guin. Mr. and Mrs. Harold Pearson and daughter Shirley and Mr. and Mrs. Alonzo Myers and son Tommy spent Sunday afternoon with Mr. and Mrs. Albert Peterson in Lima. Mrs. Kenneth Woodward and dau ghter Shelvia of North Baltimore were week end guests of Mr. and Mrs. I Charles Brenner. Mr. and Mrs. H. I. Fritz and family were Sunday dinner guests of Mr. and Mrs. B. M. Smith in Lima. Miss Thelma Jordan was a Thurs day evening supper guest of Mr. and Mrs. C. H. Brenner and son Paul. Mr. and Mrs. J. H. Bowersox and Mrs. Anna Keel motored to Bellevue last Sunday and spent the day with Ed. Bowersox. Mrs. Bowersox died and was buried on Monday. Mr. and Mrs. I. L. Clymer of Rog er’s City, Mich., called on Mr. and Mrs. J. J. White on Monday afternoon. Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd Foltz of Find I lay called on Mr. and Mrs. M. S. Stein inger, Sunday evening. Mr. and Mrs. C. J. Whisler and Mr. i and Mrs. J. J. 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