The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on November 21, 1894 · Page 7
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 7

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, November 21, 1894
Page 7
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I ALfcOftA, fOWl, WfcMESBAr, MJv*. «, * e c van TCls I little ttfcurdlfts-* tlttittimar boy that loads Ian bearded inim See the HffiiVnz veteran Kft*l>in$ Step rvs best ho can tnB little b6ftrdie«s tlriimm"i- boy's com- -iuat>ltn. HttnpUn 1 , old i-pc .HoHlons corns «* *. i» At he bc - uitl ' f>t the dt-urp, W tho rattle's uind fantasia, the throbbing aftd the hum Of the riflpt- rataplan In the forefront of the von, Whet-6 tho drumstick wai a bullet and the parchment wa<* n man! Rataplan! A Passive CHme, Mt "Tllfc CHAPTER VII—COHTINUBI>. ''Ohi Mimi, do not let him say that! Ho is hot dead! Ho will coma back!" says Maud, in an agony of gnaf and despair, appealing in a heart-broken manner to her friend tttid mother. "And it was not all my fault. And—and I will not be, k . lieve that he is dead! It would be too cruel t" ''What a gloomy room, and what a gloomy topic! Who is talking of death?" asks a gay, glad, young voice from the door-way, that thrills tho listeners to their hearts' core. It is a voice that makes the old. man start and tremble violently, and hold out his arms in expectation, with a suppressed but thankful cry. Yet foe the first time his loving greeting is overlooked, is cast aside. A slight figure, half hidden by tho dusk, but discernible to the eyes ot a lover, has chained the newcomer's attention, and, oblivious of his father and of all things, Dick Penruddock goes eagerly up to it. At .the sound of his voice Maud has raised herself, and, breaking now from Mrs. Neville, goes quickly to him, and. with an impulsive gesture, lays her hands upon his shoulders. "It is indeed you! You have really come back to me?" sho gasps, in a little, tremulous whisuor, that plainly tolls horlovo and., pratitude. "Yes; to you ["responds he gladly: ."But there was no danger—none. Ho fired right over my head, and refused to fire again. No one knows why. I really think he must .have had a sneaking- kindness y for me all through, or else lie had tired of killing.. So you see I was bound to como.back, like that inevitable bad coin, you know. Why, what is this? Are those tears, my love—are they shed for me?" She is looking up at him with eyes full of tears, and pink lids, and pallid checks; yet never has sho appeared to him so beautiful as now, when decked with these signs of woo that are worn for love of him. "My dear Dick, 'what a fright you have given us!" says Mrs. Neville, with a deep sigh, half of relief, half pf annoyance. "Why, we havo been mourning you as past all help in this world, during tho last hour; and now|horo you are. safe and sound! I roally think you Bought to' bo ashamed of yourself,, and-ought'also- * to ower us a profuse apology." "For being alivo," Smiled Dick. "Yes—no, I moan, no— Dear me, I hardly know what I am saying; but you really ought to feel sorry for, all the trouble you have-caused." "Have you nothing to say to your father?" ,-,ays Ponrudclpck, a^the far , jOnd of , the ropm. "That young lady"—ppihtlng tp Maud—"if all I hear be true^ you saw only two nights ago, me ypu have not seen for two months. Yet it seoms that you have nothing to say to me, though much to her. Has"—and this was spoken very bitterly—"has an acquaintanceship of weeks obliterated the affection of years?"' "My dear father!" says Dick, de- precjftingly. Then he kisses Miss Neville's hand, and, leaving hor, goes up to "where his-father isvstaritling, - 'Maud, gjjtd of the chance,-slips fiom the rpora at this moment, and escapes to her own sanctum. 1 ,<»Why. father, what lucky chance / hata driven you up to tpwq?" says ^ ( I>ick, affectionately, placing his "V.fcand on Penruddock's shoulder, ;-, ««No lucky" chance, but the news 'of this duel thatyo'w have been fighting," says his father gloomily. «4|itP what da'ngors you have been "Why, how "came you tp hear pf it M^your quiet country home?" says iviHfik, with some tunft^ewept, :<?- . Aft 'matters little. .1 did hear, plain, and came up by the • ~ * i r beep that incorrigible Pick, below his "My ttrop ici't^ift gi'o^t city must fiJjprV' f|ftyiYa?emiiidaQpk, not biro, ''afja^.^jQuW speak ,_ sevJQWsly, "- " - ( WUe» can I find _ ,J? There, if rowpjj I hat, and quits the room. Pe'nmd- doek, having wado h'.g adioux in more elaborate form, goes slowly down stairs, and into,tho hall. As he passes a room the door of which is now open, a woman.tall and dark- browed, cotnos quickly forward, as though summoned by his footstep, and confronts him. As his eyes light upon her, a ghastly change comes ovor him. Mo is White as a sheet, seems to shrink and grow smaller, and draws his breath "Well, 'Penruddock," she says, in accents slow and distinct, appearing | to enjoy his discomfiture; "and 60 wd J meet again. How pleased you look!" ! "Whathas brought you hero?" demands he, hoarsely.lookiug nervous- 1 ly around. j "Fato!" replies sho coldly. "But here—what has brought you hero?" asks he, as thou»h unable to refrain from idle questioning. Tho woman, bending toward him, lays her bony hand upon his wrist. "To help you to remember, 11 whispers she, 3/i a tone that makes him shudder, so much compressed hatred lies within It. "Have yon forgotten? Fifteen years ago this month, Penruddock! Fifteen years ago!" So saying, she turns abruptly, and enters the room again. Penruddock "Stay, woman!" he exclaims. «'Bo not so eager," replies Esther; "we shall meet again." By this time sho has reached a door opposite to that by which sho had entered that room, opens, and darts through it, closing it quickly behind her. Penvuddock would still follow her, but, reaching the door through wh'ch the woman has gone, he finds it locked against him. CH APT Ell VIII. A True Lover. Aftor a momentary sensation of faintness, that followd close on Esther's diaappea'rance, Fonruddock rallies, und tolls hini-self that her presence in this particular house, is but one of the coincidences that will occasionally occur 'in all our lives, and that her wild allusion to objectionable dates has only arisen from tho morbid q'ualitifts that go so far to mako up her character. By the time his son has arrived, and is ushered into his private sitting- room, he is himself again, composed, calm, and cold, and freer from foolish sentiment than he was ati hour ago, reaction having set in. He opens his subject, which has to dp entirely with Dick's misplaced affection for Miss Neville, "so-called," without any appearance of excitement or undue warmth, merely expressing in every possible way his 'disapprobation of the young lady to •whom his son is so devoted. : When ho .has finished, Dick for several moments remains quite silent. When rejected by Maud on the night of tho dance, he had given way to despair, but RP many little things have occurred since then to encourage new hopes, that he has, on reflection, declined to be altogether disheartened. Her love is not as yet given to another, and therefore she may bo his in the hnppy, undefined future. • • '"X regret that I must 'go against you in this . matter," -he. says -at length, quiotly but decidedly. -Ho is standing on the lie>rtlr-i > ug,',his arms folded, and Ipoklng frowning ly upon the carpet. His father, standing opposite to him, with clouded brow, is regarding him anxiously. "You speak like a child who is asked to relinquish a favored but dangerous toy," ho says oontem'ptu- ously, "You, with your, 'fortune'. and position, to marry,' a girl penniless, nameless, — nay, if reports speak cOr- rectlv, even wors'e than - " "That wiU do," says the young man,' with'a' sudden gesture sugges-. tive of passion, "Say nothing more, if you please, It is of no CPHSO- quence whatever to me that she is poor and nameless, as were she poss<|ssea of all the wealth in Christendom, and owner of tho highest title in the land, I could not possibly lovo her more than I do now," "Sentiment in the ypung is admirable," say's Penruddock, i» 'a sneer ing tone, "It betrays amiability and gopd feeling. Put even virtues may be carried tp excess. Do you— par- dpn me-— but dp ypu mean to marry this young wpman?" It wpujd be difficult to say why, but- who ever knQw ft- roan that wasn't .unnoted wjien, any pne palled tho girl Uo iovoda "youngr woman i 1 " ••What pise should ,1 moan, " he aska, wjtl} wretohedly-cpncealed }re, »'jf she will h&VQ me,"". "Oil! ypu noec] pot anxiety pp that ppjnt, I distance ho could see some sight that i to him was full of sweetness and Mght. ••Can nothing movo you?" asks Penruddook, unsteadily. "Not alt ! the years gone by, in which I hava lived, and thought, and speculated j for you alone? Is this, after all that 1 havo done, to be my sole return?" j "Dear father," says Dick, turning I tp him with quick rind eager affection, "why try to make me miserable? I lomember all—every kind word and kinder action; and 1 would implore you in this, the most impor- 1 tant act of my life, to give me you? sympathy. When vou know Maud you will better understand me, be- cfttue you too will love her. I'o- morrow I shall ask her again to be my Wife, and if she consents, which" (and ho lookod and spoke very mournfully) "1 strongly doubt, you will gain a daughter as loving as your son." "Nay," says .l?0nritddock, angrily turning aside; "f wanfc no daughter picked from tho mire. Go, sir!' 1 pointing to the door. "I shall not again Pde to you for either your love or obedience. Yet stay, and hear my last words, as you intend to go to-morrow to ask that girl again to marry you. I warn you 1 shall bo there too, to explain to her tho terrible injustice she will do you shoula sho consent to your proposal." "And I warn, you," says Dick, calmly, but in a very curious tone, "that it will bo extremely unwise of you, or anyone, to say anything likely to wound or offend Miss Neville, even in tho very slightest degree." As tho door closes upon his son, George Penruddock sinks heavily into the nearest chair, covers his face with his hands, and is overcome with, emotion. "And for this I have suffered, and endured, and sinned!" ho says, with a convulsive shudder. "Oh, that it were possible to undo my wretched past! But that can never bo, alas! that can never be." When -Dick leaves his father's presence, it is but to hasten to his room, and send a hasty but tender note to Miss Neville, tolling her of his intention to call next day, and again entreat her to look favorably upon his suit. Then he puts in a few lines about his father, vory delicately written, saying that he also intends putting in an -appearance at South Audley street on the morrow; ami while assuring her of his own lasting affection for her, implores her—as she feels even a poor sentiment of friendship for him—to pay no heed to any disparaging remarks that ignorance of her sweet excellence may induce anyone to make. After this follow a few more little sentences, put in rather incoherently, but, in all probability, the dearer because of their want of precision to the reader ot them, and then he is hers "most faithfully, and with the entire love of, his heart, Dick Penruddock." It is a thorough love-letter; one that might have been written a century ago, when Jove was a thing more sacred and .more full of courtesy than it is to-day. Maud, sitting in' her own room, weeps bitter tears over it, and kisses it foolishly but vory % fondly, and tells herself again'and again that fate has dealt unjvUtly 'with her in that it compels'her to resign tho writer of this crentle billet doux, and putting him 'entirely 'o'Ht Of her life, leaves him iree to be gained and loved by some more fortunate woman. And that she must so leave him is, perhaps, the deepest sting of all. Esther, ih'e nurse, coming in, finds her prone upon a sofa, crying 'quiet- .ly, yet bitterly, and, full of sympathy, and a little frightened, comes over to her, and smoothes back tenderly the soft hair'from her forehead. 'To this fond and faithful woman, 'the girl will always be her child-, 'her nursling. [TO BE , They always generally a/ start to i'lsli. Officers pf the steamer Essex report a school of flying fish in tho Kappahannpck river, Virginia. Flying iish s\yim in shpals varying in number frpm a clpgen to a hundred er inpre, They pften leave the water at enco, darting through the 'air in the same, direction fer gOU yai'ds or wove, and then descend tq the water quickly, rising again, and then renewing their flight.' Sometimes tho dolphin may be seen • in rapid pursuit,«taking great leaps put of tho water, and gaining uppn its prey, which take shorter and shorter flights, "va|pjy trying tp escape, until tlie.y sink exhausted. Sjgrne,tiroQs ftp IftVgQr ?ea. birds catch flyingr ttsft in fljQ »Uv The, quostipn, whether- tlj,o flying fislj use, their- a.t »}i as vvingd is. .-ant f uUy d* ' powe.i 1 ,pf -flight is I'ijttltad iMQfsfr. ' ^$ iJl ui tiave no mora' of, u.^oan't inannv hmi '' ' '' oi'fl. vou rknowfeHm ' , 41 gpfc W $>'•*. . ^tir4gp«w^^jn|jfc^^*; | * »wsjM0riy 1 w TABMNACLJJ ttfc. tALMAOE'S REtURN FOft A SERMON TEXT, th« i>*fc filing Chosen train id, xxlll.: "toting Hltlici- tfce Fatted ttolf and kill It"—A Touching fils- course on the Vicissitudes of tlffc x, N. Y., Nov. n.— ftev. t)r. Talmage, having concluded his round- the-world tour, has selected as the subject for to-day's discourse through the press: ''Home Again." In all ages of the world it has been customary to celebrate joyful events by festivity—the sighing of treaties, the proclamation of peace, the. Christmas, tile marriage. However much on other days of the yea* our table may have stinted supply, OB Thanks' giving day there must be something bounteous. And all the comfortable homes of Christendom have at some time celebrated joyful events by banquet and festivity. Something has happened in the old homestead greater than anything that has ever happened before. A favorite son, whom the world supposed would become a vagabond and outlaw forever, has got tired of sightseeing and has returned to his father's house. The world said he never .would come back. The old man always said his ton would come. He had been looking for him day after day and year after year, lie knew he would come back. Now, having returned to his father's house, the father proclaims celebration. There is a calf in the pad dock that has been kept up and fed to Utmost capacity, so as to be ready Cor some occasion of joy that might come along. Ah! there never will be a grander day on the old homestead than this day. Let the butchers do their work, and let the housekeepers bring- into the table the smoking meat. The musicians will take tlicir places, and the gay groups will move up and down tho floor. All tho friends and neighbors are gathered in, and extra supply is sent out to the table of the servants. The father presides at the table and says grace, and thanks God that his long- absent boy is home again. Oh! how they missed him; how glad they are to have him back. One brother indeed stands pouting at the back door, and says: "This is a g-reat ado about nothing; this 'bad boy should have been chastened instead of greeted; veal is too good for him!" But the father says, "Nothing is too g-ood; nothing is good enough." There sits the young man, glad at the hearty reception, but a shadow of sorrow flitting- across his brow at the remembrance of the trouble.lie had seen. All read}' now. Let the covers lift. Music. He was.dcad and he is alive-againl He was lost and he is found! By such bold imagery does the Bible set forth the 1 merrymaking when a soul comes home to God. First of all< there is the new COH, vert's joy. It is no tame thing to become a Christian. The most tremendous moment in a man's, life is when he surrenders himself to God. 'The grandest time on the, father's homestead is when the boy comes back. Among the great tlu-png who, in the parlors ,o2 my church, professed Christ ,one night was a young man, who next •morning rang rny doorbell and said: "Sir, I can not contain myself with the joy I feel; I came, here this morning to express it, I have found more joy in five minutes in serving God than in all the" years of my prodigality, and I came to say so." You have seen, perhaps, a man running for his physical liberty, and the officers of the law after him; and ^ou saw him escape or afterward you heard the judge had pardoned him, and how great was the glee of that rescued man; but it is a very tame thing that compared with the running for one's everlasting life—the terrors pf the law after him, and Christ coming in tp pardod and bless and rescue and save, YOU remember John Bunyan, in his great story, tells how the Pilgrim put his fingers to his ears and ran, crying, "Life, life, eternjU 'life!" A poor car driver, after having had *° struggle, to support his family 'for years, fmddenly was informed that a large inheritance was his, and th'ere was joy amounting to bewilderment} but that is a small thing compared wtt.b the experience of pn,e when he has put in his hands, the title 'deed to the joys, the raptures, the splendors pf heaven, and he pan truly say, "Its mansions are mine, its temples 'a,re mine, its songs fu*e- jnine, its God is mjne!" , • Oh, it is no twne thing to oeoome -a Christian, It is » merrymaking, jHs the killing of the' fatted calf, It is jubilee, - Yon know the B4ble never compares it to, a funeral, compares it to something bright, mpre apt to. be compared tp tlian anytH|ng ojsp, Jfc Js cpn^pared *,he Bible to. the iwg wfttw to the?moving—-roseate., flrowqrfceji', 'j&pimtaia moTOiRgi f wish ftll the Bjjile e$pr9§ston,s about paj'4o» flfld, peac!B 4 jjn$ Jjfe. ol God the next moment. When Daniel Sanden an was dying of cholera, his attendant said: "Have you rmteh pain?" '-Oh/' he replied, "since 1 found the Lord J have never had any pain except sin." Then they said to him: '-Would you like to send a message to your friends?" ''Yes, I would; tell them that only last night the love of Jesus came mshing into my soul like the surges of the sea, and I had to cry out, 'Stop, Lord; it is enough! Stop, Lord— enough!' " Oh, the joys of this Christian religion! •Tust pass over from those tame joys in Which you are indulging — joys of this world — into the raptures of the gospel. The world can not Satisfy you; you have found oiit — Alexander, longing for other worlds to conquer, and yet drowned in his own bottle; Byron, whipped by disquietudes around the world; Voltaire, cursing his own soul while all the streets of Paris were applauding him; Henry II., consuming with hatred against poor Thomas a-Becket— all illustrations of the fact that this world can not make a man happy. The very man who poisoned the pommel of the saddle on which Queen Elizabeth rode, shouted in the street, "God save the queen!" One moment the world applauds, and the next moment the world anathematizes. Oh, come over into this greater joy, this sublime solace, this magnificent beatitude. The night after the battle of Shiloh, there were thousands of wounded on the field, and the ambulances had not come, one Christian soldier, lying there a dying under the starlight, began to sing: There is a land of pure delight, And when he came to the next line there were scores of voices uniting: Where saints immortal reign. The song was caught up all over the field among the wounded, until it was said there were at least ten thousand wounded men uniting their voices as they came to the verse: Ihere everlasting spr.' g bides, And never withering ujwers; Death like a narrow sti earn divides, That heavenly laud from ours, Oh, it is a great religion to live by, and it is a great religion to die by. There is only one heart throb between you and that religion this moment. Just look into the face of your pardoning God, and surrender yourself for time and for eternity, and he is yours, and heaven is yours, and all is yours. Some of you, like the young man of the text, have gone far astray. I know not the history, but you- know it— you know it. When* a young man went forth into life, the legend says; his guardian angel went forth with him, and getting him into a field, the guardian angel swept a circle clear around where the young man '-j stood. It was a circle of virtue and. honor, and he miist step beyond that circle. Armed foes came down, but were obliged to halt at the circle— tliey could not pa&s. But one day a temptress, with diamonded hand, stretched forth and crossed that circle with the hand, and the tempted soul took it, and by 5 that one fell grip was brought beyond the circle, and died. Rome of you have stepped beyond that circle. "Would you not like this day, by the grace of God', to step back? This,' I say to you, is your hour of salvation. There was in the closing hoiirs of Queen Anne what is called the clock scene. Flat down on the pillow in helpless • sickness, she could not move her head or move her hand. She was waiting for , the hour when the ministers of state should gather in angry contest; and worried and worn out by the coming- hour, and in momentary absence of the nurse, in the power — the strange power which delirium sometimes gives one — she arose and stood in front of the clock, and stood there watching the clock when the nurse returned. The nurse said, "Do you see anything peculiar about that clock?" She made 1 no answer, .but soon died, There is a clock scene in every history. If some of you would rj&o from the bed of lethargy and come put of your delirium of sin, and look on the clock of your destiny this moment, you would see and hear something you have not seen or heard before, and every tick of the minute, and every stroke of tj^e hour, and every swing of the pendulum would -say: "Now,, now, now, now!" Oh, come homo to your Father's house, Come home, oh, prodigaj, from; the, Wilderness. Come Jiome, pome home! You remember reading the story of p, king-, who, on some g-reftt day of festivity scattered silver and -gold among the people, who sent valuable presents tp his courtiers; but methinks,when a spwl comes back, God is so glad that to express his joy he< flings' put new worlds into,' space, kindles up new 'suns, and rolls awpng the white robed of thp, redeemed, a greater iifte with a vpice, t iwpng- the {ftpjjutj e apd' is, echoed b»4j gates. J»e wjes; *'3Fhjs," was d,e^d. jpd ig aUye agaiji!" PJ?Btaf flf'.the expo,§!(4qn, 'Jp , j gaw a Mexican flwtfst, .J#y4 tfe e ,s<4£> §»fJ tjiep after., of 'the m y , At, thirty yearSi forty JtsAfSf pflfftpS^ fiffcf years—waiting, waiting, watching; and if this niorning prodigal should come hot&e, what ft scene of gladness and festivity, afctl how the great Father's heart would rejoice at your coming home. You will come, some of you, will you not? 1?*dtt will! you will! We are in sympathy with all ittfcd* cent hilarities. "\Ve can enjoy a hearty song and tve can be merry with the merriest; but those of us who ha^e toiled in the service are ready to testify that all these joys are tamo in comparison with the satisfaction of seeing men enter the kingdom of God. Thd great eras of every minister are the outpourings of the Holy Ghost, and 1 thank God I have seen twenty of them. Thank God, thank God! I notice also when the prodigal conies back all Christians rejoice. It you stood on a promontory and ther* was a hurricane at sea, and it Was blowing toward the shore, and a ves" sel crashed into the rocks and you saw people get ashore in the life boats and the very last matt got on the rocks itt safety, you could not control your joy» And it is a glad time when the church of God sees men who are tossed on the ocean of their sins plant their feet on the rock of Christ Jesus. When prodigals come home, just hear those Christians sing. It is not a dull tune you hear at such times. Just hear those Christians pray. It is not a stereotyped supplication we have heard over and over again for twenty years, but a putting of the case in the hands of God with an importunate pleading. Men never pray at great length unless they have nothing to say and their hearts are hard and cold. All the prayers in the Bible that were answered were short prayers: "God be merciful to me a sinner." "Lord, that I may receive my sight." "Lord, save me or I.perish." The longest prayer, Solomon's prayer at the dedication of the' temple, less than eight minutes_ in...length, according to the ordinary rats- of enunciation. And just hear them pray now that the prodigals are coming home. Just see them shake hands. No putting forth of the four' tips of the fingers in a formal way, but a hearty grasp, where the muscles of the heart seem to clinch the fingers of one hand around the other hand. And then see those Christian faces, how illumined they are. And see that ..old man get up and with the same voice that he sang fifty years ago in the old country meetinghouse, say,"Now,Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart", in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation." There was a man of Keith who was Inn-led into prison in time of persecution, and one day. lie got off his shackles and he came and stood by the prison door, and when the jailer was opening the door, with one stroke he struck down the man who incarcerated him. Passing along the streets of London he wondered where his familj' was. He did not dare to ask lest he excite suspicion, but, passing along a little way from the prison, he saw a Keith tankard, a cup that belonged to the family from generation to generation—he saw it in a window: His family, hoping that some day he would get clear, came and lived as near as they could to the prison and they set that Keith tankard in the window; hoping he would see it} and he came along and saw it, and •• knocked at the door, and went in, and tho long absent', family were all together' ag-ain. Oh, if you would start for the-kingdom of God to-day, I think some of you would find nearly all your .friends and nearly all your family around the holy tankard of the holy communion—lathers.mothers.brothers, sisters, around that sacred tankard which cemmemerates the lo,ve of Jesus' Christ our Lord. Oh, it will be a great communion day when your whole family sits around the sacred tankard. One on earth,'one in heaven. Once more I'remark, that- when tkip prpdigal gets back the inhabitants,, *of. -, heaven keep festival. I am very cesfri'.. tain pf it. If you have never seen ft • telegraphic chart, yen have no \ideaf ,' how many cities are connected together" * and how many lands. Nearly all thf»," neighborhoods of the earth seem reti-' ! ouiated, and news flies from city ,tp / city, and from continent to cpntinWtf I- But more rabidly go the tidings' .>frgm«|, e]arth tp heav'en,,'an,d when a prpd^gs^^ retups it 'is'-announced beforef.tHlf, throne of Qod, And if tlie£e'''sp'uj8;?; to^ay ^should enter the kingdom; j^e&C., , >'V., .^.'H •y$x h«*-s daughter,',' friend," "THt'§ the pne I use for," **Thj4t's the one for ; so many iws, 1 ? and &m> 1 Tjf^y^iwo^ ^w»* r r l jif X >• *,V >*^|^^ V ^ ^«* «itpttfftwfy&9?& ftFtn m

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