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- in the days of my youth i was told what it means to be a man
Probably even others which I do not remember but enough to give quite a range to those who liked home-doctoring. Two never-to-be-forgotten doses were wormwood and sulphur and molasses. Every spring the children would be lined up in the South Room and given a dose of wormwood tea and, a week or two later, a large spoonful of sulphur and molasses. The wormwood tea is self explanatory.
The sulphur and molasses was supposed to cleanse the blood after a winter without fresh fruit or vegetables. The wormwood was very bitter and the sulphur and molasses quite gritty but with all the children watching no one dared to make a fuss. In case of sore throat, dry sulphur was blown into the throat through a glass tube.
Actual sickness was seldom in evidence. Whenever there was a case of serious illness or childbirth an Oneida doctor was called and there were a few women, known to have a special talent for nursing, who were always put in charge. Aunt Sarah Dunn was a particularly fine nurse. She seemed to have special intuition for diagnosis and what the immediate treatment should be, and she inspired courage and confidence in the patient at once.
Sears, I have heard, was an excellent midwife. Aunt Charlotte Reid had a special faculty with children, being patient, wise and kind. In case of emergency such as an epidemic, any woman or man in the Community was glad to be called on to help, and often new talent would be discovered. My mother, though she had never had scarlet fever herself, nor had any experience with it, was put in sole charge of one child victim, day and night, and brought it through successfully. If the health department seems rather less organized than many of the branches of the Community, it must be remembered that though there was a recognition of the value of medicine, there was always a strong belief, by many, in the power of prayer and faith healing.
In the early days, faith in Divine Healing was but the logical result of a firm belief in the miracles of the Bible and I have heard that Mr. Noyes was able, as a channel of the Divine Power, to restore Miss Mehetibel Hall to health after years of invalidism and, after losing three of the Clark children in an epidemic of diphtheria, by resorting to prayer and cracked ice the epidemic was brought to an end. Later for some reason I never knew, they gave up sole reliance on God and used medicine when deemed necessary, although invoking His power as an ally.
Sickness among those in active life was rare, I should say. Occasionally we would hear that someone had "fever 'n ague" brought on from Walling-ford, which was always rife with it, but on the whole, sickness was seldom in evidence and I remember but one death occurring among the young. That was the death of beautiful Edith Waters, who died of consumption in nearby Verona Springs, where she had gone hoping for a cure.
Even to us young children had come the story of her love affair with handsome, attractive Mr. Charlie and the suppression of such a notable case of "special love" was supposed by many to be the cause of her death rather than the true malady. To me, it was quite a shock, since up to that time I must have forgotten Aunt Chloe's baby I had thought everyone lived to be a hundred, and my life seemed secure for years to come. Now, it was all different but, luckily, unhappy thoughts do not last long in childhood.
To us children even people of fifty seemed quite old and, by that reckoning there were many old people in the Community, the young-old and the old-old. The young-old took care of themselves nicely, but the old-old were given the same cheerful and tender care given the children, and apparently they were never considered a burden. They were kept clean and as attractive as possible. Meals were carried to them in a basket if they were unable to walk to the dining room and their rooms were usually situated adjoining either the Upper or Lower Sitting Room, thus giving them the benefit of those big sunny rooms to sit in and the opportunity to widen their horizon by meeting younger people who happened in.
One of the old ladies had completely lost her mind and was of great interest to the children whenever they happened to see her. Every day after being dressed she was placed in a nicely cushioned rocker by one of the sunny windows and there she would sit by the hour, never speaking, hardly stirring save to fold and unfold her handkerchief. I have a ridiculous memory in connection with this poor woman, and one which still pricks my conscience. It happened that one day Josephine and I, finding Old Aunt Jane alone, in her usual chair, were inspired to see if we could get her attention.
After some consultation we decided on what seemed a brilliant plan. We got down on our hands and knees and crept up to her, barking loudly like dogs. It brought a frightening response. She uttered a pitiful cry and put out her hands to fend us off. By this time Josephine and I were so ashamed of our bright idea that we got up and ran away as quickly as possible thanking heaven that no one had seen us and that Old Aunt Jane could never tell of our wickedness. Had we been found out, punishment would surely have followed since respect for old people was taught us early and always insisted upon.
The most memorable of the old men was Mr. Perkins who was badly palsied. He was given the job of testing chains in the chain room. It was fascinating to us children to watch him missing the hook at which he aimed time after time but always persisting and always accomplishing his stint in the end. We children were often reprimanded by Papa Kelly for making false motions when making chains.
It was a very bad habit we were told, and in Mr. Perkins we could see the sad, sad end to which the maker of false motions could possibly arrive. Fortunately there was a story we were  told later which greatly lessened our fears. The children's version was that in his youth Mr. Perkins was asked by his younger brother to go with him to a nearby pond to see him swim, which the boy had just learned to do. Very soon, whether through fear or cramp, the swimmer began to sink and called loudly for help.
It was at this point that Mr. Perkins, who couldn't swim himself, simply walked on the water, like Peter in the Bible, and saved his brother's life. The boy was brought safely to land but poor Mr. Perkins, his faith unused to such a strain, was left a nervous wreck for evermore. It happened that J. Harrison kept the letter for months before he dared show it to anyone alse.
Finally he decided to send it to Simon Lovett, a close friend, first extracting a promise it should go no further. Lovett, however, who heartily approved Noyes' views, could not refrain from passing it on to Elizabeth Hawley, a young fire-brand of his acquaintance and she, carried away by the new gospel, insisted it be sent to Theophilus Gates of Philadelphia, owner and publisher of the Battle Axe, a new and very radical news-sheet. And so the great, the revolutionary idea, was launched through no effort of Noyes' own.
He had not thought the time was ripe to announce it to the world but under the circumstances he was forced to come forward as the author and sponsor of the letter, which he did with courage and strong conviction. Though I have not been able to find further information concerning Miss Hawley's activities in promoting the new Truth she had so valiantly espoused, she must have been a strong supporter in some one of the various small groups of Perfectionists which had sprung up in New England and she was an early joiner of the rapidly growing Community at Oneida.
In my day she had become Aunt Elizabeth to the young people and was a rather odd but always interesting personality. What particular function she filled in the early days I do not know. Not one that carried any continuous responsibility, I am sure, as she was too erratic, too inorganic, undesirable qualities in an organization where obedience was necessary. However, she went her way seemingly undisturbed, even by criticism, choosing whatever work she wished to do and it seemed to be tacitly understood that argument about it was useless and to be avoided.
Sometimes it would suit her fancy to braid palm-leaf hats, at one time one of the minor industries of the Community.
Sometimes she would devote herself to making scrapbooks for the children, which she considered important in those days of few illustrated books for children. Her real passion was for flowers and she was an indefatigable gardener. Although, in her later years, after the Break-up, she became an enthusiastic disciple and correspondent of Dr. Totten of Yale, who was putting forth the theory that the English race was one of the lost ten tribes of Israel, she was still an ardent supporter of the doctrines of J. I suspect, however, that she reserved her own opinion as to his complete inspiration, since I once heard her say, "Yes, he was a great man, a wonderful man, but I never went near enough to see the brush marks.
But as the years passed, she no longer felt controversial. As her strength declined she had to be moved down from her third floor room to a room on the second floor where she could be waited on more easily. Fortunately, too, for in her 91st year she fell and broke her hip.
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In those days, before modern surgery, such an accident was very serious. An old person was not expected to live, much less to walk again. But such ideas were not accepted by Aunt Elizabeth. She had had "an inner witness," she told her friends, that she would both live and walk and walk she did, with only a cane for support until her 96th year. If one asked her how she felt she would say, "Don't ask me how I feel.
Ask me how I do. I am doing well. But why, you may ask, have I written very little about the active men and women of the O. I wish I could tell more about the important members, those who were  responsible for managing the various departments or held professional positions. But on thinking the matter over I realize how little I actually knew about them. We felt their influence, however. There was always a general atmosphere of youth and vitality among them.
They always seemed bent on important business matters but happily so. They never seemed worried. The whole atmosphere seemed serene, one of faith in God's approval of their lives and aims, and it never occurred to me that the Oneida Community would not go on forever.gachatvegenpie.tk/3279.php
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In those days children were still supposed to be "seen but not heard," when with their elders. I could and did admire a few grownups from afar; Mr. Frank when he played his violin so beautifully, and his accompanist, Miss Tirzah, with her amazingly nimble fingers; Henry Hunter's playing of the clarinet in the orchestra and Miss Lily's sweet voice and lovely complexion when she sang on the stage. But the children's association with the older people in charge of running the affairs of the O.
We knew their names, and we knew they felt kindly toward us, but that was the extent of the acquaintance. There was nothing about them or their occupation to excite our interest, whereas Old Mr. Perry, who, it was rumored among the children, had no stomach and certainly he looked it, buttoned up so tightly in his black Prince Albert coat, was an object for frequent discussion.
We almost envied him when we saw the delicious eggnogs sent up to him so regularly with his dinner. Then there were the old ladies, so old they were allowed to wear the long dresses and the lovely swaying hoop skirts of their youth and, instead of short hair wore black wigs neatly parted in front, the back covered by a thick beribboned net. Whether because of age or their regal dress, several of these women were called "Lady. I think her title must have been conferred because of the dominating vigor she displayed at an advanced age.
It had to be recognized in some way. And what a haven the Community was for old people, those who had joined probably in their thirties or forties and had given many years of honest work to the society so had earned a release from heavy labor. To keep them happy, light occupation was found for all those who wished it. Knitting, mending and silk-tying for the old women. Light kitchen work, apple-paring and the preparation of vegetables for the family table for the old men.
When old people reached the stage where they needed constant care some qualified person was appointed to look after them, often a man or woman near their own age but still strong enough to keep up a high standard of care for the patient's person, clothes and room. Friends would drop in frequently to see them, bringing news of the family life and so their days would pass peacefully to the end.
When I asked about it, I was told it was another Community home way off in Connecticut and that quite a number of our people lived there all the time. Often when a member at Oneida needed a change of climate or work they could go to Wallingford and change places with someone there who wanted to visit Oneida. This was a bit over my head at the time but before long Wallingford became for me a real place.
One day I happened to see a trunk being unpacked by a person who had just come from there and had brought with him several large golden apples, each with a note attached to it by a large pin. They looked like apples but they were quite hard, rather fuzzy and had a most delicious smell, quite unlike any apples I had ever seen before. When I asked what kind of apples they were through my Grandpa I knew quite a little about apples - I was told these were quinces, which could not be grown at Oneida because it was too cold.
They grew well at Wallingford, however, so our people there would often send them in the fall, as a loving remembrance to friends at Oneida. They were delicious, baked and served with cream. Soon after that, Wallingford began to have a more important interest for me. My precious Grandma was sent there to help in some domestic capacity, I believe, and before very long I was told I might go and stay with her for a while.
That was my first experience in travel. It was an unforgettable journey. Aunt Sarah was kind, loved children and they felt it, but Miss Jane -never "Aunt Jane"- was the martinet type and was one of the quite permanent Children's House Mothers. She was the one who saw to it that the  children were kept clean, went to their meals and bed on time, were properly dressed when they went outdoors, were prompt in attendance at five o clock meeting and were obedient and respectful. The children obeyed her, not from love but through fear of her severity. She seldom spanked but sometimes used the back of a hairbrush on the hand.
When Aunt Sarah took your hand in her soft, gentle palm, it was a hand-clasp. When Miss Jane took your hand in her thin, hard one, to hurry you along, it was a hand-grasp and you'd better not hang back. She was in charge of the journey to Wallingford. We went from Oneida to Albany by train arriving just in time to catch the Hudson River night boat. I remember but little of the first part of the trip save feeling very homesick and longing for my mother, but the scene on the badly-lighted dock in Albany, the gleam of lights on that black and menacing river has stayed with me through the years.
Our cabin was tiny - barely room for us and our modest amount of luggage. Miss Jane was small, so I had to sleep with her in the lower berth, perhaps because if I crowded her out she wouldn't have so far to fall. This arrangement, however, obliged Aunt Sarah, who was very stout, to climb up a shaky ladder to the upper berth. I watched the proceeding, my heart in my mouth, and heard her bed creak and groan as she settled into it. Then I was helped to undress, told to get into the lower berth and lie as close to the wall as possible. Miss Jane followed, excluding all light and air.
DAYS OF MY YOUTH | RACKETSOUND
How frightened I was! Never having traveled by boat before, I didn't know that even the best of them creak and strain frequently, so that every time I heard those strange boat noises I thought Aunt Sarah was about to descend on us and, though I trusted her kindness usually, I was sure she was bound to crush Miss Jane and me flat as a pancake before morning.
Luckily I was too sleepy and tired to lie awake long and in no time, it seemed, it was morning and we waked unharmed and at the dock in New York. We must have breakfasted somewhere I suppose, then transferred to a train and the next thing I knew I was at that mythical place called Walling-ford and in my precious Grandmother's arms, all fears forgotten. There was just time before the twelve o'clock dinner to be shown around the house which seemed pretty small compared with the Mansion at Oneida but there was the same big family atmosphere and I was soon feeling at home.
Fortunately there were three other children there at the time -Humphrey, Theodore and Agnes, I think - and after dinner I was told I could go with them to the playroom which was located in the printing office, as the printing establishment adjacent to the Big House was called. The "printing office" was really a fair-sized building which housed the printing of the Circular and all Community publications. It was here we spent most of our time when not outdoors. It was plainly furnished, following the custom at Oneida, but had a nice smooth hardwood floor, so essential to active play, and, an innovation, some small low cupboards arranged around the wall for the children's special use.
It is the memory of those cupboards that brings to mind a tragic incident - that is, as a child knows tragedy. When I left Oneida my mother had given me a present, all carefully wrapped and not to be opened till I reached Wallingford. I am sure it was Mother's idea that this gift might tide me over a very probable touch of homesickness. I knew nothing of that, however, and my one thought after dinner was to get Grandma to unpack my bag so I could see my present.
Presents were rare in those days. Luckily it lay on top of my clothing and in a trice I had taken off the wrapping paper and there lay a candy rose, as large as a real rose but in has-relief. The back of it was flat, just plain white candy, but on the upper side there were lovely curved pink petals with a center of green and a short green stem. I had never had anything so lovely in all my life, I thought. I wanted to show it at once to the children, so I wrapped it carefully and went downstairs to meet them, carrying it very importantly in my hand.
I said nothing about it and they were too polite to ask immediately what it was, but on entering the playroom I was told at once which was my cupboard and that I could put my things in it. I could keep my delight no longer to myself, so I undid the paper and displayed that beautiful rose. They were all as overcome by its beauty as I was and there were Oh's and Ah's aplenty, but it was candy, after all, and just as I was about to put it into my cupboard for safe-keeping one bold spirit blurted out, "But, aren't you going to share?
Then a bright thought struck one of the children. It wouldn't hurt it. Those licks were long and loving but by the time it reached me I couldn't see that the lovely rose had suffered. It was just as pink and perfect as when I got it, so I dared to take my turn at licking, then wrapped it again carefully and shut it in my cupboard, hoping it might be forgotten.
But, of course, it wasn't. That lick simply whetted the appetite of the candy-hungry children and I was very overtly given prefer-  ence in all the games we played, even though a neighbor's little daughter had been asked in to play with us. We built block houses, looked at picture books and, best of all, raced marbles, starting them from the top of the big, zigzag marble-roller and racing them the entire length of the room.
In about a half hour little Martha, the neighbor's daughter, said she must go home. Her mother had said not to stay long. We were so engrossed in play by that time that we called out a brief goodbye over our shoulders and went on with the game, secretly glad I think, that there was one less mouth to feed. Finally even marble racing palled and memories of that sweet, sweet rose came to us all.
I couldn't bring myself to offer it again but I didn't have to. It was suggested in a loud, enthusiastic tone by Humphrey, "Let's have another lick on the rose. Could that loveliness stand another round of licks unharmed?
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But it had to be tried. I was escorted to my cupboard with deference and with reluctance opened the door on a bare shelf. Not a vestige of that lovely rose was left. It was gone Gone! We children had been brought up on the Ten Commandments and knew what a dreadful sin stealing was, but it was an ugly word, never referred to save as "taking-what-doesn't-belong-to-you-without-asking. So we didn't say Martha had stolen the rose although we knew she had. And even if we had called her a robber, thief wasn't in our vocabulary either, nothing we could have called her would bring back my lovely, lovely rose.
But never, never again would we play with little Martha, child of perdition. There are only two other incidents that stand out clearly in my four-year old memory of that first visit to Wallingford. The children realizing, I suppose, that Wallingford didn't offer the varied facilities for play that Oneida did, did their best to find for me interesting things to see or do.
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One of the most exciting things in the place, they said, was Mr. Charlie's Mustang, but the barn was out of hounds and they could not take me there. That word Mustang, such a nice word, whetted my curiosity. I wanted very much to see it, so when one morning Mr. Charlie - he was my Uncle Charlie - asked me if I would like to go with him to the barn, my joy knew no bounds. And what a beautiful creature that horse was!
It was not large but of perfect build and had a coat the color and sheen of a ripe chestnut, while the forelock, mane and tail were black, the tail almost reaching the ground. Then he picked me up in his arms and let me pat the horse's satin-smooth neck which it seemed to like, as it turned its head toward me with a whinney and a very friendly look. I was then told by Uncle Charlie to go outside while he fixed the head-stall and I started to obey but I was fascinated by that long, black tail, so, unseen, slipped back into the stall and took the end of the beautiful tail up in my hands.
I must have handled it very gently for nothing happened until Uncle Charlie, turning, saw me. Then, with one swift stride and without a sound, he snatched me up in his arms and stepped out of the stall. His face was awfully white and his voice sounded trembly but he didn't scold. All he said was, "Don't you know, child, that you must never go behind a horse's heels?
He might have kicked you. He didn't mention Guardian Angels but I am sure he saluted them and gave silent thanks. All the way to the house he held my hand close in his, although he didn't say a word nor did I. I might have thought I had gravely displeased him, since he never asked me again to go to see the Mustang but whenever I saw him riding by, looking so handsome and happy, he would wave his hand at me and I felt we were still friends. In thinking over my visit to Wallingford and trying to place my age by the kind of things I remembered, one simple touching incident comes to my mind showing the child's early and instinctive trust in the goodness of God.
One lovely sunny day soon after I arrived, the children said, "Let's go and see where Miss Chloe's baby is buried. Had Miss Chloe had a baby of her own once? And it had died? Why, Miss Chloe was one of the mothers of the Children's House and the dearest She was always kind, never scolded even if you were naughty, could love you into being good and had so expressive a face and so lovely a voice that her storytelling was pure delight. We children would sit quiet as mice for as long a time as she could give us, listening to her enchanting tales. Yes, of course, I wanted to see it, not that I really comprehended anything about it.
So we started out playing "follow the leader" on the way and were soon led to a little footpath which wound up to a sunlit grove of slender oaks at the foot of Mt. This places the time of my visit in the fall, as the ground was covered with yellow leaves which we scuffed up into great heaps, then threw ourselves into them amid shouts of laughter.
We were so carried away with the fun we were having that we almost forgot the reason for our walk but soon Humphrey called us together and  led us to a secluded corner of the grove where there were a few graves with headstones, gray with age, and beyond them, next to the fence, to a little grave marked with a small stone, the grave of Miss Chloe's baby.
Suddenly we felt quite concerned about that little boy lying there all alone, taken away from his mother but not yet gone to heaven.
in the days of my youth i was told what it means to be a man
Why was that? Yet God was our loving Father. We didn't question that. We stood there quietly for several moments, then Humphrey said, "Now, if you will lay your head down on his grave you can hear his heart beat. Then we went away, not saddened but feeling the baby was being tenderly cared for by good Mother Earth till God should call him home. My second and last visit to Wallingford, two or three years later did not, for some reason, record nearly such vivid memories as that first one. Perhaps that was because it occurred after the main Wallingford family had moved back to Oneida.
Malaria, which followed the enlarging of the pond to provide water power for the spoon factory, as it was called, had taken a heavy toll of the Wallingford family. My uncle, Charlie Cragin, had died from it and the Central Committee decided to abandon the whole enterprise. The machinery and raw materials were to be shipped to the new factory at Niagara Falls. To do this job, Mr. Daniel Kelly was sent to help Mr.
Myron Kinsley who for some time had been running the spoon factory. It is at this point that I come into the picture. After the big family had left for Oneida, someone was needed to keep house for the few men remaining there at Wallingford and my Grandmother Ackley had been the one chosen. I fancy she was rather homesick alone all day in the old house, so it was decided to send me out to keep her company for the rest of her stay.
Kelly, being then en route to Wallingford, was elected to take me with him. As I remember it, Mr. Kelly, while being a very estimable man, was wholly unused to caring for children and seemed rather bored with the idea but had to consent. We were to take the sleeper from Utica and my mother accompanied me as far as the Utica station. Though I wanted to see my grandma, I was leaving behind Mother, my sister Maggie and brother Bobbie, our new family home, my old playmates and the dear, familiar surroundings.
Community training came to the fore as usual. If it was best for all that I should go, go I must. It must have cost my mother a pang to send me away, weeping and disconsolate, but she was a good soldier. The whistle blew and I was hurried aboard the train. It was soon bedtime, fortunately, and Mr.
Kelly told me to take off my shoes, coat and hat. Then, still fully dressed, I was helped into an upper berth where, with my new doll Mother had just made me my first doll hugged tight in my arms I was soon asleep. I must have forgotten my homesickness and slept soundly, too. In no time, it seemed to me, Mr. Kelly called me, told me to get ready, for we were pulling into Meriden.
After that there was a six mile drive, but soon I was in Wallingford and in my grandma's arms. This second visit proved rather dull for there were no children to play with except a little colored girl, child of Cindy, the colored cook who used to come in daily to help Grandma with the work. Cindy made all the bread and it was fun to watch her put her pink-palmed hands into the big pan of sponge, take out a double handfull, drop it onto the floured-board and by kneading with the heel of the hand, turning, folding again and again, a fascinating process, work it into the shape of a loaf just the size of her bread-pan into which she would tuck it as gently as you would lay a baby in its cradle.
After this, of course, it must be set in a warm place to rise again, then be baked for a full hour. But what a reward would be yours if you happened into the kitchen when it was done, still warm, and sending forth its delectable aroma! Then Cindy would cut off an end crust for you, spread it generously with home-made butter and there you had food for the Gods.
My only outside amusement was following Mr. Birdsey Bristol while he did the work in the barn, milking the cow, feeding and currying the horse and oxen or plowing with those great rust-colored creatures, Buck and Berry, in a field near the house. Bristol was a man Millet would have loved to paint.
He was big and brawny with a fine head rather sparsely covered with curly gray hair but there was no lack to his curly beard which sprangled out riotously all over his face. His nose was too large and acquiline to be subdued by his beard, but the dominant features were his eyes, large bright blue, observant and friendly, and his deep, resonant voice, which, when he sang out his gees and haws to the oxen, was a joy to hear.
We became friends at once and I used to follow him about much of the time. He was such a nice member of the family, too, always looking around to see where he could help. Another nice family member was Mr. Myron Kinsley my uncle. He was always kind and jolly and surprised us greatly one day by bringing in sweet Miss Jessie Baker whom I had known at Oneida. He had just met  her train in Meriden. Grandma didn't seem surprised, however, but welcomed her warmly as did all the others but why had she come?
Grandma didn't need any more help. Next day Miss Jessie told me the reason. That very afternoon she was going to marry Uncle Myron in New Haven and she showed me her wedding dress, a dark green brocaded silk, very pretty, which she had made herself. She was a lovely young woman and would make a fine wife.
Here was romance in full flower right before my eyes where I couldn't help but see it. This was very exciting but I was still somewhat homesick so I was glad that after a short time the house was closed and we were on the way home, all but Mr. Bristol whom I was sorry to leave. It only remains for me to tell of the final end of the Wallingford Community buildings. They were large enough to accommodate a family of fifty, by no means beautiful and not easy to sell advantageously.
For this reason Mr. Leonard, Sr. Not until two years later was a satisfactory offer made. This came from the Freemasons who wanted it for a home for their aged members. They would also have use for the farm, so it was sold to them and is still used by them for this purpose, thus maintaining its original purpose a communal home. Study This. Job Job 28 Job Job in all English translations. Bible Gateway Recommends. View more titles. Advance your knowledge of Scripture with this resource library of over 40 reference books, including commentaries and Study Bible notes.
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