CHAPTER XVI.
DOWN AT ALLINGTON.
It was Christmas-time down at Allington, and at three o'clock onChristmas Eve, just as the darkness of the early winter evening wascoming on, Lily Dale and Grace Crawley were seated together, oneabove the other, on the steps leading up to the pulpit in AllingtonChurch. They had been working all day at the decorations of thechurch, and they were now looking round them at the result of theirhandiwork. To an eye unused to the gloom the place would have beennearly dark; but they could see every corner turned by the ivysprigs, and every line on which the holly-leaves were shining.And the greeneries of the winter had not been stuck up in theold-fashioned, idle way, a bough just fastened up here and a twiginserted there; but everything had been done with some meaning, withsome thought towards the original architecture of the building. TheGothic lines had been followed, and all the lower arches which it hadbeen possible to reach with an ordinary ladder had been turned astruly with the laurel cuttings as they had been turned originallywith the stone.
"I wouldn't tie another twig," said the elder girl, "for all theChristmas pudding that was ever boiled."
"It's lucky then that there isn't another twig to tie."
"I don't know about that. I see a score of places where the work hasbeen scamped. This is the sixth time I have done the church, and Idon't think I'll ever do it again. When we first began it, Bell andI, you know,--before Bell was married,--Mrs. Boyce, and the Boycianestablishment generally, used to come and help. Or rather we used tohelp her. Now she hardly ever looks after it at all."
"She is older, I suppose."
"She's a little older, and a deal idler. How idle people do get!Look at him. Since he has had a curate he hardly ever stirs roundthe parish. And he is getting so fat that-- H--sh! Here she isherself,--come to give her judgment upon us." Then a stout lady, thewife of the vicar, walked slowly up the aisle. "Well, girls," shesaid, "you have worked hard, and I am sure Mr. Boyce will be verymuch obliged to you."
"Mr. Boyce, indeed!" said Lily Dale. "We shall expect the wholeparish to rise from their seats and thank us. Why didn't Jane andBessy come and help us?"
"They were so tired when they came in from the coal club. Besides,they don't care for this kind of thing,--not as you do."
"Jane is utilitarian to the backbone, I know," said Lily, "and Bessydoesn't like getting up ladders."
"As for ladders," said Mrs. Boyce, defending her daughter, "I am notquite sure that Bessy isn't right. You don't mean to say that you didall those in the capitals yourself?"
"Every twig, with Hopkins to hold the ladder and cut the sticks; andas Hopkins is just a hundred and one years old, we could have done itpretty nearly as well alone."
"I do not think that," said Grace.
"He has been grumbling all the time," said Lily, "and swears he neverwill have the laurels so robbed again. Five or six years ago he usedto declare that death would certainly save him from the pain of suchanother desecration before the next Christmas; but he has given upthat foolish notion now, and talks as though he meant to protect theAllington shrubs at any rate to the end of this century."
"I am sure we gave our share from the parsonage," said Mrs. Boyce,who never understood a joke.
"All the best came from the parsonage, as of course they ought," saidLily. "But Hopkins had to make up the deficiency. And as my uncletold him to take the haycart for them instead of the hand-barrow, heis broken-hearted."
"I am sure he was very good-natured," said Grace.
"Nevertheless he is broken-hearted; and I am very good-natured too,and I am broken-backed. Who is going to preach to-morrow morning,Mrs. Boyce?"
"Mr. Swanton will preach in the morning."
"Tell him not to be long, because of the children's pudding. Tell Mr.Boyce if he is long, we won't any of us come next Sunday."
"My dear, how can you say such wicked things! I shall not tell himanything of the kind."
"That's not wicked, Mrs. Boyce. If I were to say I had eaten so muchlunch that I didn't want any dinner, you'd understand that. If Mr.Swanton will preach for three-quarters of an hour--"
"He only preached for three-quarters of an hour once, Lily."
"He has been over the half-hour every Sunday since he has been here.His average is over forty minutes, and I say it's a shame."
"It is not a shame at all, Lily," said Mrs. Boyce, becoming veryserious.
"Look at my uncle; he doesn't like to go to sleep, and he has tosuffer a purgatory in keeping himself awake."
"If your uncle is heavy, how can Mr. Swanton help it? If Mr. Dale'smind were on the subject he would not sleep."
"Come, Mrs. Boyce; there's somebody else sleeps sometimes besides myuncle. When Mr. Boyce puts up his finger and just touches his nose,I know as well as possible why he does it."
"Lily Dale, you have no business to say so. It is not true. I don'tknow how you can bring yourself to talk in that way of your ownclergyman. If I were to tell your mamma she would be shocked."
"You won't be so ill-natured, Mrs. Boyce,--after all that I've donefor the church."
"If you'd think more about the clergyman, Lily, and less about thechurch," said Mrs. Boyce very sententiously, "more about the matterand less about the manner, more of the reality and less of the form,I think you'd find that your religion would go further with you. MissCrawley is the daughter of a clergyman, and I'm sure she'll agreewith me."
"If she agrees with anybody in scolding me I'll quarrel with her."
"I didn't mean to scold you, Lily."
"I don't mind it from you, Mrs. Boyce. Indeed, I rather like it. Itis a sort of pastoral visitation and as Mr. Boyce never scolds mehimself, of course I take it as coming from him by attorney." Thenthere was silence for a minute or two, during which Mrs. Boyce wasendeavouring to discover whether Miss Dale was laughing at her ornot. As she was not quite certain, she thought at last that she wouldlet the suspected fault pass unobserved. "Don't wait for us, Mrs.Boyce," said Lily. "We must remain till Hopkins has sent Gregory tosweep the church out and take away the rubbish. We'll see that thekey is left at Mrs. Giles's."
"Thank you, my dear. Then I may as well go. I thought I'd come inand see that it was all right. I'm sure Mr. Boyce will be very muchobliged to you and Miss Crawley. Good-night, my dear."
"Good-night, Mrs. Boyce; and be sure you don't let Mr. Swanton belong to-morrow." To this parting shot Mrs. Boyce made no rejoinder;but she hurried out of the church somewhat the quicker for it, andclosed the door after her with something of a slam.
Of all persons clergymen are the most irreverent in the handling ofthings supposed to be sacred, and next to them clergymen's wives, andafter them those other ladies, old or young, who take upon themselvessemi-clerical duties. And it is natural that it should be so; for isit not said that familiarity does breed contempt? When a parson takeshis lay friend over his church on a week day, how much less of thespirit of genuflexion and head-uncovering the clergyman will displaythan the layman! The parson pulls about the woodwork and knocks aboutthe stonework, as though it were mere wood and stone; and talksaloud in the aisle, and treats even the reading-desk as a commonthing; whereas the visitor whispers gently, and carries himself asthough even in looking at a church he was bound to regard himself asperforming some service that was half divine. Now Lily Dale and GraceCrawley were both accustomed to churches, and had been so long atwork in this church for the last two days, that the building had lostto them much of its sacredness, and they were almost as irreverent asthough they were two curates.
"I am so glad she has gone," said Lily. "We shall have to stop herefor the next hour, as Gregory won't know what to take away and whatto leave. I was so afraid she was going to stop and see us off thepremises."
"I don't know why you should dislike her."
"I don't dislike her. I like her very well," said Lily Dale. "Butdon't you feel that there are people whom one knows very intimately,who are really friends,--for whom if they were dying one wouldgrieve, whom if they we
re in misfortune one would go far to help, butwith whom for all that one can have no sympathy. And yet they areso near to one that they know all the events of one's life, and arejustified by unquestioned friendship in talking about things whichshould never be mentioned except where sympathy exists."
"Yes; I understand that."
"Everybody understands it who has been unhappy. That woman sometimessays things to me that make me wish,--wish that they'd make himbishop of Patagonia. And yet she does it all in friendship, and mammasays that she is quite right."
"I liked her for standing up for her husband."
"But he does go to sleep,--and then he scratches his nose to showthat he's awake. I shouldn't have said it, only she is always hintingat uncle Christopher. Uncle Christopher certainly does go to sleepwhen Mr. Boyce preaches, and he hasn't studied any scientific littlemovements during his slumbers to make the people believe that he'sall alive. I gave him a hint one day, and he got so angry with me!"
"I shouldn't have thought he could have been angry with you. It seemsto me from what you say that you may do whatever you please withhim."
"He is very good to me. If you knew it all,--if you could understandhow good he has been! I'll try and tell you some day. It is not whathe has done that makes me love him so,--but what he has thoroughlyunderstood, and what, so understanding, he has not done, and what hehas not said. It is a case of sympathy. If ever there was a gentlemanuncle Christopher is one. And I used to dislike him so, at one time!"
"And why?"
"Chiefly because he would make me wear brown frocks when I wanted tohave them pink or green. And he kept me for six months from havingthem long, and up to this day he scolds me if there is half an inchon the ground for him to tread upon."
"I shouldn't mind that if I were you."
"I don't,--not now. But it used to be serious when I was a younggirl. And we thought, Bell and I, that he was cross to mamma. He andmamma didn't agree at first, you know, as they do now. It is quitetrue that he did dislike mamma when we first came here."
"I can't think how anybody could ever dislike Mrs. Dale."
"But he did. And then he wanted to make up a marriage between Belland my cousin Bernard. But neither of them cared a bit for the other,and then he used to scold them,--and then,--and then,--and then--Oh,he was so good to me! Here's Gregory at last. Gregory, we've beenwaiting this hour and a half."
"It ain't ten minutes since Hopkins let me come with the barrows,miss."
"Then Hopkins is a traitor. Never mind. You'd better begin now,--upthere at the steps. It'll be quite dark in a few minutes. Here's Mrs.Giles with her broom. Come, Mrs. Giles; we shall have to pass thenight here if you don't make haste. Are you cold, Grace?"
"No; I'm not cold. I'm thinking what they are doing now in the churchat Hogglestock."
"The Hogglestock church is not pretty;--like this?"
"Oh, no. It is a very plain brick building, with something like apigeon-house for a belfry. And the pulpit is over the reading-desk,and the reading-desk over the clerk, so that papa, when he preaches,is nearly up to the ceiling. And the whole place is divided intopews, in which the farmers hide themselves when they come to church."
"So that nobody can see whether they go to sleep or no. Oh, Mrs.Giles, you mustn't pull that down. That's what we have been puttingup all day."
"But it be in the way, miss; so that the minister can't budge in orout o' the door."
"Never mind. Then he must stay one side or the other. That would betoo much after all our trouble!" And Miss Dale hurried across thechancel to save some prettily arching boughs, which, in the judgmentof Mrs. Giles, encroached too much on the vestry door. "As if itsignified which side he was," she said in a whisper to Grace.
"I don't suppose they'll have anything in the church at home," saidGrace.
"Somebody will stick up a wreath or two, I daresay."
"Nobody will. There never is anybody at Hogglestock to stick upwreaths, or to do anything for the prettinesses of life. Andnow there will be less done than ever. How can mamma look afterholly-leaves in her present state? And yet she will miss them, too.Poor mamma sees very little that is pretty; but she has not forgottenhow pleasant pretty things are."
"I wish I knew your mother, Grace."
"I think it would be impossible for any one to know mamma now,--forany one who had not known her before. She never makes even a newacquaintance. She seems to think that there is nothing left for herin the world but to try and keep papa out of misery. And she does notsucceed in that. Poor papa!"
"Is he very unhappy about this wicked accusation?"
"Yes; he is very unhappy. But, Lily, I don't know about its beingwicked."
"But you know that it is untrue."
"Of course I know that papa did not mean to take anything that wasnot his own. But, you see, nobody knows where it came from; andnobody except mamma and Jane and I understand how very absent papacan be. I'm sure he doesn't know the least in the world how he cameby it himself, or he would tell mamma. Do you know, Lily, I think Ihave been wrong to come away."
"Don't say that, dear. Remember how anxious Mrs. Crawley was that youshould come."
"But I cannot bear to be comfortable here while they are so wretchedat home. It seems such a mockery. Every time I find myself smiling atwhat you say to me, I think I must be the most heartless creature inthe world."
"Is it so very bad with them, Grace?"
"Indeed it is bad. I don't think you can imagine what mamma has togo through. She has to cook all that is eaten in the house, and then,very often, there is no money in the house to buy anything. If youwere to see the clothes she wears, even that would make your heartbleed. I who have been used to being poor all my life,--even I, whenI am at home, am dismayed by what she has to endure."
"What can we do for her, Grace?"
"You can do nothing, Lily. But when things are like that at home youcan understand what I feel in being here."
Mrs. Giles and Gregory had now completed their task, or had so nearlydone so as to make Miss Dale think that she might safely leave thechurch. "We will go in now," she said; "for it is dark and cold, andwhat I call creepy. Do you ever fancy that perhaps you will see aghost some day?"
"I don't think I shall ever see a ghost; but all the same I should behalf afraid to be here alone in the dark."
"I am often here alone in the dark, but I am beginning to think Ishall never see a ghost now. I am losing all my romance, and gettingto be an old woman. Do you know, Grace, I do so hate myself for beingsuch an old maid."
"But who says you're an old maid, Lily?"
"I see it in people's eyes, and hear it in their voices. And theyall talk to me as if I were very steady, and altogether removed fromanything like fun and frolic. It seems to be admitted that if a girldoes not want to fall in love, she ought not to care for any otherfun in the world. If anybody made out a list of the old ladies inthese parts, they'd put down Lady Julia, and mamma, and Mrs. Boyce,and me, and old Mrs. Hearne. The very children have an awful respectfor me, and give over playing directly they see me. Well, mamma,we've done at last, and I have had such a scolding from Mrs. Boyce."
"I daresay you deserved it, my dear."
"No, I did not, mamma. Ask Grace if I did."
"Was she not saucy to Mrs. Boyce, Miss Crawley?"
"She said that Mr. Boyce scratches his nose in church," said Grace.
"So he does; and goes to sleep, too."
"If you told Mrs. Boyce that, Lily, I think she was quite right toscold you."
Such was Miss Lily Dale, with whom Grace Crawley was staying;--LilyDale with whom Mr. John Eames, of the Income-tax Office, had beenso long and so steadily in love, that he was regarded among hisfellow-clerks as a miracle of constancy,--who had, herself, in formerdays been so unfortunate in love as to have been regarded among herfriends in the country as the most ill-used of women. As John Eameshad been able to be comfortable in life,--that is to say, not utterlya wretch,--in spite of his love, so had she mana
ged to hold up herhead, and live as other young women live, in spite of her misfortune.But as it may be said also that his constancy was true constancy,although he knew how to enjoy the good things of the world, so alsohad her misfortune been a true misfortune, although she had been ableto bear it without much outer show of shipwreck. For a few days,--fora week or two, when the blow first struck her, she had been knockeddown, and the friends who were nearest to her had thought that shewould never again stand erect upon her feet. But she had been verystrong, stout at heart, of a fixed purpose, and capable of resistanceagainst oppression. Even her own mother had been astonished, andsometimes almost dismayed, by the strength of her will. Her motherknew well how it was with her now; but they who saw her frequently,and who did not know her as her mother knew her,--the Mrs. Boyces ofher acquaintance,--whispered among themselves that Lily Dale was notso soft of heart as people used to think.
On the next day, Christmas Day, as the reader will remember, GraceCrawley was taken up to dine at the big house with the old squire.Mrs. Dale's eldest daughter, with her husband, Dr. Crofts, was to bethere; and also Lily's old friend, who was also especially the oldfriend of Johnny Eames, Lady Julia De Guest. Grace had endeavoured tobe excused from the party, pleading many pleas. But the upshot of allher pleas was this,--that while her father's position was so painfulshe ought not to go out anywhere. In answer to this, Lily Dale,corroborated by her mother, assured her that for her father's sakeshe ought not to exhibit any such feeling; that in doing so, shewould seem to express a doubt as to her father's innocence. Then sheallowed herself to be persuaded, telling her friend, however, thatshe knew the day would be very miserable to her. "It will be veryhumdrum, if you please," said Lily. "Nothing can be more humdrum thanChristmas at the Great House. Nevertheless, you must go."
Coming out of church, Grace was introduced to the old squire. Hewas a thin, old man, with grey hair, and the smallest possible greywhiskers, with a dry, solemn face; not carrying in his outward gaitmuch of the customary jollity of Christmas. He took his hat off toGrace, and said some word to her as to hoping to have the pleasureof seeing her at dinner. It sounded very cold to her, and she becameat once afraid of him. "I wish I was not going," she said to Lily,again. "I know he thinks I ought not to go. I shall be so thankful ifyou will but let me stay."
Grace Crawley is introduced to Squire Dale.]
"Don't be foolish, Grace. It all comes from your not knowing him, orunderstanding him. And how should you understand him? I give you myword that I would tell you if I did not know that he wishes you togo."
She had to go. "Of course I haven't a dress fit. How should I?" shesaid to Lily. "How wrong it is of me to put myself up to such a thingas this."
"Your dress is beautiful, child. We are none of us going in eveningdresses. Pray believe that I will not make you do wrong. If you won'ttrust me, can't you trust mamma?"
Of course she went. When the three ladies entered the drawing-room ofthe Great House they found that Lady Julia had arrived just beforethem. Lady Julia immediately took hold of Lily, and led her apart,having a word or two to say about the clerk in the Income-tax Office.I am not sure but what the dear old woman sometimes said a few morewords than were expedient, with a view to the object which she had soclosely at heart. "John is to be with us the first week in February,"she said. "I suppose you'll see him before that, as he'll probably bewith his mother a few days before he comes to me."
"I daresay we shall see him quite in time, Lady Julia," said Lily.
"Now, Lily, don't be ill-natured."
"I'm the most good-natured young woman alive, Lady Julia, and as forJohnny, he is always made as welcome at the Small House as violetsin March. Mamma purrs about him when he comes, asking all manner offlattering questions as though he were a cabinet minister at least,and I always admire some little knicknack that he has got, a newring, or a stud, or a button. There isn't another man in all theworld whose buttons I'd look at."
"It isn't his buttons, Lily."
"Ah, that's just it. I can go as far as his buttons. But come, LadyJulia, this is Christmas-time, and Christmas should be a holiday."
In the meantime Mrs. Dale was occupied with her married daughter andher son-in-law, and the squire had attached himself to poor Grace."You have never been in this part of the country before, MissCrawley," he said.
"No, sir."
"It is rather pretty just about here, and Guestwick Manor is a fineplace in its way, but we have not so much natural beauty as you havein Barsetshire. Chaldicote Chase is, I think, as pretty as anythingin England."
"I never saw Chaldicote Chase, sir. It isn't pretty at all atHogglestock, where we live."
"Ah, I forgot. No; it is not very pretty at Hogglestock. That's wherethe bricks come from."
"Papa is clergyman at Hogglestock."
"Yes, yes; I remember. Your father is a great scholar. I have oftenheard of him. I am so sorry he should be distressed by this chargethey have made. But it will all come right at the assizes. Theyalways get at the truth there. I used to be intimate with a clergymanin Barsetshire of the name of Grantly;"--Grace felt that her earswere tingling, and that her face was red;--"Archdeacon Grantly. Hisfather was bishop of the diocese."
"Yes, sir. Archdeacon Grantly lives at Plumstead."
"I was staying once with an old friend of mine, Mr. Thorne ofUllathorne, who lives close to Plumstead, and saw a good deal ofthem. I remember thinking Henry Grantly was a very nice lad. Hemarried afterwards."
"Yes, sir; but his wife is dead now, and he has got a littlegirl,--Edith Grantly."
"Is there no other child?"
"No, sir; only Edith."
"You know him, then?"
"Yes, sir; I know Major Grantly,--and Edith. I never saw ArchdeaconGrantly."
"Then, my dear, you never saw a very famous pillar of the church.I remember when people used to talk a great deal about ArchdeaconGrantly; but when his time came to be made a bishop, he was notsufficiently new-fangled; and so he got passed by. He is much betteroff as he is, I should say. Bishops have to work very hard, my dear."
"Do they, sir?"
"So they tell me. And the archdeacon is a wealthy man. So HenryGrantly has got an only daughter? I hope she is a nice child, forI remember liking him well."
"She is a very nice child, indeed, Mr. Dale. She could not benicer. And she is so lovely." Then Mr. Dale looked into his youngcompanion's face, struck by the sudden animation of her words, andperceived for the first time that she was very pretty.
After this Grace became accustomed to the strangeness of the facesround her, and managed to eat her dinner without much perturbation ofspirit. When after dinner the squire proposed to her that they shoulddrink the health of her papa and mamma, she was almost reduced totears, and yet she liked him for doing it. It was terrible to her tohave them mentioned, knowing as she did that every one who mentionedthem must be aware of their misery,--for the misfortune of her fatherhad become notorious in the country; but it was almost more terribleto her that no allusion should be made to them; for then she would bedriven to think that her father was regarded as a man whom the worldcould not afford to mention. "Papa and mamma," she just murmured,raising her glass to her lips. "Grace, dear," said Lily from acrossthe table, "here's papa and mamma, and the young man at Marlboroughwho is carrying everything before him." "Yes; we won't forget theyoung man at Marlborough," said the squire. Grace felt this to begood-natured, because her brother at Marlborough was the one brightspot in her family,--and she was comforted.
"And we will drink the health of my friend, John Eames," said LadyJulia.
"John Eames' health," said the squire, in a low voice.
"Johnny's health," said Mrs. Dale; but Mrs. Dale's voice was not verybrisk.
"John's health," said Dr. Crofts and Mrs. Crofts in a breath.
"Here's the health of Johnny Eames," said Lily; and her voice was theclearest and the boldest of them all. But she made up her mind thatif Lady Julia could not be induced to spare her for
the future, sheand Lady Julia must quarrel. "No one can understand," she said to hermother that evening, "how dreadful it is,--this being constantly toldbefore one's family and friends that one ought to marry a certainyoung man."
"She didn't say that, my dear."
"I should much prefer that she should, for then I could get up onmy legs and answer her off the reel." Of course everybody thereunderstood what she meant,--including old John Bates, who stood atthe sideboard and coolly drank the toast himself.
"He always does that to all the family toasts on Christmas Day. Youruncle likes it."
"That wasn't a family toast, and John Bates had no right to drinkit."
After dinner they all played cards,--a round game,--and the squireput in the stakes. "Now, Grace," said Lily, "you are the visitor andyou must win, or else uncle Christopher won't be happy. He alwayslikes a young lady visitor to win."
"But I never played a game of cards in my life."
"Go and sit next to him and he'll teach you. Uncle Christopher, won'tyou teach Grace Crawley? She never saw a Pope Joan board in her lifebefore."
"Come here, my dear, and sit next to me. Dear, dear, dear; fancyHenry Grantly having a little girl. What a handsome lad he was. Andit seems only yesterday." If it was so that Lily had said a word toher uncle about Grace and the major, the old squire had become on asudden very sly. Be that as it may, Grace Crawley thought that he wasa pleasant old man; and though, while talking to him about Edith, shepersisted in not learning to play Pope Joan, so that he could notcontrive that she should win, nevertheless the squire took to hervery kindly, and told her to come up with Lily and see him sometimeswhile she was staying at the Small House. The squire in speaking ofhis sister-in-law's cottage always called it the Small House.
"Only think of my winning," said Lady Julia, drawing together herwealth. "Well, I'm sure I want it bad enough, for I don't at all knowwhether I've got any income of my own. It's all John Eames' fault, mydear, for he won't go and make those people settle it in Lincoln'sInn Fields." Poor Lily, who was standing on the hearth-rug, touchedher mother's arm. She knew that Johnny's name was lugged in withreference to Lady Julia's money altogether for her benefit. "Iwonder whether she ever had a Johnny of her own," she said to hermother, "and, if so, whether she liked it when her friends sent thetown-crier round to talk about him."
"She means to be good-natured," said Mrs. Dale.
"Of course she does. But it is such a pity when people won'tunderstand."
"My uncle didn't bite you after all, Grace," said Lily to her friendas they were going home at night, by the pathway which led from thegarden of one house to the garden of the other.
"I like Mr. Dale very much," said Grace. "He was very kind to me."
"There is some queer-looking animal of whom they say that he isbetter than he looks, and I always think of that saying when I thinkof my uncle."
"For shame, Lily," said her mother. "Your uncle, for his age, is asgood a looking man as I know. And he always looks like just what heis,--an English gentleman."
"I didn't mean to say a word against his dear old face and figure,mamma; but his heart, and mind, and general disposition, as they comeout in experience and days of trial, are so much better than thesamples of them which he puts out on the counter for men and womento judge by. He wears well, and he washes well,--if you know what Imean, Grace."
"Yes; I think I know what you mean."
"The Apollos of the world,--I don't mean in outward looks,mamma,--but the Apollos in heart, the men,--and the women too,--whoare so full of feeling, so soft-natured, so kind, who never saya cross word, who never get out of bed on the wrong side in themorning,--it so often turns out that they won't wash."
Such was the expression of Miss Lily Dale's experience.
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