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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 8, 2008 16:44:34 GMT -5
The day had passed slowly enough, dragging on through the hours. That was fine by me, really; I rather liked not having aught to do, having given myself the day off. The sun trickled in through a newly-leafed tree and spattered across me, curled up, reading an old novel. The chair I was in was one of my favorites, floral pattered and overstuffed, just a spectacular place to relax in. Taking a sip of cold tea from the tray next to me, I flipped the page, lost in the pages of my book.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 8, 2008 16:55:24 GMT -5
I had left the Poulet Gauche with resolve, and as I’d dropped by my own home to leave word that I was well and hale, I made, hastily, for Mirielle’s house. I could not longer wait. Not when I had life to celebrate, not when I had the glorious of being alive to see her again.
Her house was broached swiftly, and when the maid opened the door, she gave me a look of surprise. Oh, right, I must have looked like a refugee. No matter. I would soon enough be hers. The long gash on my arm wasn’t too visible, and though my clothes were crumpled, they weren’t stained. The only things was, I hadn’t shaved, but Mirielle had seen me in worst condition.
I asked, and she pointed, not daring stand in the way of my excited joy, and I kissed her on both cheeks before I darted for the garden. A moment’s pause took me. She was reading, quiet, beautiful as ever. Mirielle. My Mirielle. My Angel. An emotion took me, and my eyes stung.
For all my euphoria, I could only murmur her name reverently, over and over. “Mirielle.” With every syllable of her name, I closed the distance. I was free. She was safe.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 8, 2008 23:18:44 GMT -5
One passage read particularly strange, speaking in mildly backward sentences for enough length of time that I began to wonder if the author and editor both were drunk. I was trying to decipher it when I caught hold of a male voice murmuring my name, growing louder and louder with each second.
My jaw dropped the instant my eyes landed on Gillermo, rumpled and unkempt, in bad need of a shave. Old habit made me stuff a bookmark into my book before I shut it, standing near immediately and facing him. "Gil!" I exclaimed, shock and surprise laden heavily. My initial reaction was happy, but I was wary still, worried that he weren't cured and the demon was still in him. I didn't have any strong maled in employment here today. "How are you?"
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 9, 2008 12:47:45 GMT -5
The distance had been closed, and it took a short moment to whisk her in my arms, my body pressed to her. I was clean, at least, and I hadn’t drunk more than a glass of wine. “Free,” I whispered against her lips. “Free and happier than I’d never been.”
My hands roamed her back gently, pressing her in an embrace. “Gentian has cured me, Angel. I am yours for the having, if you still want me.”
Gods, I ached to kiss her. My eyes were tracing the elegant contour of her mouth, remembering the tender touch of her lips. But in her eyes, worry had shone a moment, and I feared that I may frighten her more. She didn’t know about Riva’s ritual. I’d kept it to myself, wanting to spare her the worry. I’d put her through so much as it was…
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 9, 2008 14:21:20 GMT -5
My mouth opened and closed, opened once more before closing all over again. Free? Cured? The words sounded foreign to me as I grasped what he was saying, my arms moving around his waist and returning the embrace. "I.. Free?" I leaned back and looked at him, my lips parting as I strove to understand fully. "You're cured? What happened?"
I searched his face, dove my eyes into him, looking keenly for a trace of evilness. Never had I known Gil without his second nature, it occurred to me; I didn't know what to look for and what not to. He hadn't displayed it when we first met, nor in the park after, but it'd been there.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 9, 2008 16:46:06 GMT -5
The look of surprise on her face was plain delightful. I laughed, letting my mirth, my pure, unadulterated joy fill me, and leaned in to steal a rapid kiss. “I’m sorry to be so wildly pleased. I’d never believed life could be so much worth living, Mirielle.” I paused, letting our eyes dance with each other a moment. “I owe you a story, but I don’t want to talk of it now,” I added, still grinning wide.
I pressed her to me, and my hand moved to her cheek, stroking it slowly. “Now is a time for joy, not one for lurid tales. I’ve put you through enough,” I whispered reverently. Under my fingers, her skin was soft as rose petals, and I nigh wept for the joy that filled me at having her in my arms again. Softly, I murmured, “Dare the Fox kiss the Angel, for real, this time?”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 10, 2008 10:13:38 GMT -5
My mouth opened and closed again, and I silently cursed myself for it. Damnit, I was beginning to resemble a striken fish out of water.
His swift kiss brought me back into the world a little more, his stroking hand just a little more. Gods, he was so happy! I burned with needing to know what happened, but he was so elated, so thrilled and joyous that I couldn't bear to ask him again just now.
"You look so carefree, Gil," I said quietly, a look of curious wonder on my face. I reached up and touched his cheek, gently, not prodding, feeling the rough texture of his unshaven skin beneath my fingers. Suddenly a thought occurred to me and I looked at him, my eyebrow raising a little as I swallowed a grin."Wait, how much opium have you had today?"
Without giving him a chance to answer, I leaned up and kissed him, keeping it quiet and gentle, still a little unsure of the monster within... If was even there still or not.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 10, 2008 14:53:47 GMT -5
Her lips on mine were glorious, and I kissed her back, seeking to deepen the kiss, letting my hold on her tighten until my arms were coiled around her waist, her delicate, slender, perfect waist, and my hand sprawled between her shoulder blades.
I hungered for her, and my kiss told her just that, but it was me, all me, only me. The man who wanted her so profoundly and deeply, he was willing to die for her. I told her so in my kiss, my explorations never brutal, but gaining in passion with every light-headed second.
I held her tight, but not harshly, though she was suddenly all that mattered in the universe, and I wasn’t convinced she wasn’t the one keeping me above water, much on the contrary. Of course, I hadn’t smoked – if anything, I tasted mayhap of the glass of wine I’d nursed on the way, a moment merely to gather my wits. Like a bird uncaged, for a moment, Ididn’t know what to do with my newfound liberty.
At long last I broke the kiss, gasping for air softly, but I didn’t remove my lips from her enough, and I didn’t loosen my hold. “Did you taste any opium in this kiss, my love?” I asked teasingly, my grin devilish and mischievous.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 10, 2008 15:31:23 GMT -5
I kissed him back, my lips parting wider to allow him as much access to me as he wished. When at last it broke I was left breathless, staring at him with another round of genuine shock in my eyes. "No... Nothing but a faint flavor of alcohol."
I looked over his face, his features set in such a delightfully happy light that I was left feeling fumble-footed and slack jawed in comparison. "Gil, you crazy man..." I leaned up and kissed him again, light and sweet, testing the waters once more.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 10, 2008 17:47:22 GMT -5
I kissed her back, not invading her mouth this time, rather exploring what she gave, leaving to her what she kept. A small moan left my lips though for the kiss. Gods, I could have kissed her until kingdom came, in truth.
“If in love and crazy are the same thing, then I have forsaken all reason indeed,” I replied tenderly, smiling wide still. I nuzzled her nose a little, and added, “crazy for you, that is what I am, Mirielle Bellamont.”
Did she know, did she understand the extent of the truth of my words? I wondered a split second, and decided almost immediately that it didn’t matter. Merely the fact that I had lived another day to love her was enough.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 11, 2008 13:40:38 GMT -5
Passion shone out of him, bursting from every pore of his skin, illuminating out of every strand of his dark hair. I reached up and touched his locks, letting my fingers sift through them as I took him in. Something drastic had happened to bring this out of him; the alcohol on his breath wasn't enough to be it alone.
My fingers wound through his unkempt hair before falling down and stroking his cheek again, my eyes scanning his face rapidly. "You look so free, so happy." He'd refused once to speak on what happened, saving it as a tale for later, and I wouldn't ask him again just now, no matter how I wanted to. "Are you thirsty? Hungry?" His happiness was infectious; I smiled at him, my face warming.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 11, 2008 16:04:16 GMT -5
“Only for you,” I replied softly. It occurred to me that we’d been standing there, alone, like the world did not turn, as though we were the last beings in the universe. I kissed her tenderly, letting my lips go from her lips, to her jawbone, down to her throat. I tasted her like one does the finest delicacy, because she was, and my touch on her became more intent.
I desired her. Powerfully, madly. I wanted to tell her, but I wanted to… but maybe she needed… Lust and reason battled in my mind, even as my touch on her expressed all of the former, none of the latter. I whispered against her skin, “Is this real, or a dream? I have been dreaming of you, of this for what felt like so long…” I kissed her skin, my hands rubbing her waist and moving to cup the tender place behind the nape of her neck. I touched her skin. I’d dreamt of it in my self-inflicted solitude. A contented sigh left me. Soon enough, I would tell her the tale. All of it. I didn’t want any secrets between us.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 11, 2008 22:31:50 GMT -5
My skin remembered his lips and his touches; where he moved my skin flushed, small tingles went through me. "I don't know anymore," I whispered back; or tried to, anyway. Most of it sounded gasping, a shock to even my own ears. "Maybe you're here and healed, or maybe I fell asleep on my chair."
A dream, then, or a nightmare? Was he really and truly free, or did the demon have total, utter control now? It had risen considerably since the time I met him til the time where he - it - clawed my back, leaving scrapes rippling on either side of my spine. I barely suppressed a shudder at remembering it and reacted unconsciously, burying my forehead in his sloped shoulder. "I don't know what anything is right now. Are you really, truly healed?"
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 11, 2008 22:55:34 GMT -5
I was lost in a universe of sensations, lost in the Angel's touch. She was surrendering to my caresses, and her own abandon made me fall more deeply in the pit of passion that filled me. She gasped, and whispered, and even as we were plummeting into our reunion's euphoria, her words came to me. She wasn't at ease, because she didn't know for certain that I was free. Somehow, it grounded me, even as my hands itched to skitter towards her tender breasts, as my lips hungered for her, more of her.
I pulled away, seeking one last breath of air before I took the plunge. I didn't let go, but my face was just a bit further, that our eyes may lock into another. "I am, truly and fully," I replied, as serious as I could be. "You can send word to Gentian, and have their Dowayne vouch for it if you like," I offered quietly. I turned, giving her a view of the place where a lock of my hair had been cut - it was discreet, but it was there. "Here, she took my hair," I explained.
It was too early to tell her I'd given blood. Too early to tell her I could have died. Those were elements of drama I wasn't willing to bring into our fold. I looked at her, and smiled, taking an oath I knew I could take, one I took with a light heart, because I had full certainty it could not be broken. "I swear by Blessed Elua himself, and by Asherat of the Sea, may the thunder of Baal-Jupiter and the wrath of mighty Kushiel smite me if I lie."
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 11, 2008 23:05:10 GMT -5
Free.
I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, and the only sound that ended up coming out of me was sharp, hiccuping sob. I believed him, believed what he said, but for all I knew the demon had total and utter control. I reached and touched the small bit of his hair that had been sheared off, letting its silken, if knotted, texture roll across my fingertips. My eyes met his, and I stared for a long moment as my face drew into a look of concentration, my eyes fighting the urge to tear as I stared at him. Why were our meetings always full of crying, if happy or not? I stared at him, for a good, long moment before I finally reacted again.
I kissed him.
Long and as quiet as before; if he was completely overtaken by the demon, then I wasn't safe anyway, and I might as well taste his lips one last time. I shuddered in his grip and pushed my lips against his harder, my repressed kiss strengthening til I didn't know if I was hurting him or not, but at this moment all I needed was contact, just to know this wasn't a dream, that he really was there. It'd been so long... Gods, so awfully long.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 12, 2008 0:01:36 GMT -5
Oh, Mirielle.
I gasped in her kiss, letting out at moan for her passion, for the desire that griped at me, for the joy of our commingled kissing. She was kissing me, more and more deeply, and instinctively my hold on her tightened, until not even a hairpin could pass between our bodies. I surrendered completely. I’d never yielded to anyone before, but to Mirielle, I could, because she’d seen me at my lowest, bathed me when I was in the darkest despair, at the mercy of the most terrible thing that could possess a man. To her, I could yield everything and more, and still be a man, still be me. A paper giant, that’s what she made me. I was tall, strong, and yet in her presence I felt as brittle as papyrus, as light as a feather. She could make me, or break me.
Imperceptibly, my hands traveled, one lost in her hair, in the gold mane that had so symbolized my redemption, the other to her side, my arm wrapped tightly around her waist. It moved up and down, and I savored the re-discovery of her curves, the promise of the flesh under the fabric. In my breeches, my manhood stirred to a full-blown erection, and I groaned in her mouth, returning the passionate kiss with equal desire. My eyes were closed, and she was my universe.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 15, 2008 15:26:47 GMT -5
I blushed at the feel of his hardening phallus against me; I wondered how long I'd have to be with someone before I stopped flushing like this. I kissed him a moment longer before breaking off and leaning back, seeking space enough to be able to look at him easily. "I don't know what to say," I offered at first, my cheeks flush with emotions.
Gods, everything was happening so fast around me. Everything in Azzalle had been simple, easy to deal with, but the very day I came here I met Gillermo. From there we'd battled to keep our relationship going, parting ways at one point so I could assess my feelings, getting back together and the deep, sharp spiral of the demon that plagued him. After that fateful night where he clawed me I hadn't seen him except at the wedding where he was under heavy sedation, and then he'd proposed to me under the same influence, sitting next to me as we waited for Elliot and Caraf to appear.
My head was swimming enough from that, and the night after August confessed his love and asked me to let him court me, too. Now this, Gillermo claiming he was free of the curse merely days after that.
All of a sudden I felt faint, my head swimming. I leaned forward again and pressed my cheek against his chest, my eyes closed. I didn't know what he might think of me like this, but I knew I was in no condition to tell him about August right now. Whatever reaction Gil might have given, it would be too much.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 15, 2008 15:38:14 GMT -5
…. And she pulled away.
Such was the nature of she and I, wasn’t it? Like an Aragonian tango, a dance of seduction and withdrawal, separated and reunited only to be split again, and back in her arms, until she would pull off. An admission, a few words that carried a world of confusion. I don’t know what to say.
“Then say nothing,” I replied quietly. “I’m content just to be with you,” I said gently. I wanted to caress every single inch of her body, to make love to her until night came, went, and was broken by the new day. But… never if she didn’t want it. I schooled myself to control, to mitigated desire, rather that full, mad passion.
She pressed her cheek to my chest and I enfolded her against me, my arms a protection from anything that may come between her and I. I stroked her hair, soothingly, gently, in ways I could only with her. “Have I told you lately how I love you?” I whispered against her golden hair. “It’s sudden, I know. I’m sorry, I should have told you this may yet come to pass. I…” I closed my eyes, taking in the scent of her hair, fresh as the spring breeze, “I didn’t want to inflict more drama on you, if it weren’t necessary,” I admitted. “Will you forgive me?”
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 15, 2008 15:46:48 GMT -5
I breathed his scent in as he held me, smelling too old, filtered smoke that oddly complimented the wine on his breath. My arms remained around his waist and I held him as well, remaining quiet under the boughs of the weeping willow as it shaded a portion of my yard. "Of course I'll forgive you," I murmured after he'd spoken. "I always have."
There was so much going on. "When did it happen?" I leaned back again and looked up at him, seeking to know, to understand better.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 15, 2008 16:13:02 GMT -5
My left hand moved from her waist, up to caress her cheek as she searched my eyes for answers. I replied in her eyes, hazel-green into blue waters, different colors yet hearts that understood one another better than I’d ever dreamed. “Last night,” I murmured. “You are the first one to know, though I did send word to Cascata.”
I caressed her skin, marveling at the delicate perfection of her skin, how it was porcelain clear, how it colored for my lewd desires. “I am reborn, Mirielle.” I tried to keep it from my thoughts, but it was difficult not to think of what could have happened. I could have not survived it. Visions of my sister in black, left to send my body to the Castel, my mother falling deeper into the madness I suspected, the mirrors in the house veiled in dark colors, and the painful explanations Cascata and To-Biko would have had to give Mirielle. The letter delivered by a chattered Jebean, the tears… it was a grisly thought.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 15, 2008 16:24:22 GMT -5
"Last night?" I asked, my mind mentally tracing the path which his hand took across my skin. "It happened in complete last night, or did it go all night long?" I was curious to it all, but I needed to know in steps, to understand. I was so tired of not understanding, of being lost in the dark while everything seemed to happen around me that I could kick a tree. I wasn't accustomed to being like this, but again since coming to the City it seemed to be happening more and more frequently.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 15, 2008 17:06:53 GMT -5
“It was a ritual,” I replied patiently. “Riva no Gentian sought it out. She called on me, we discussed it, all of it. The risks it entailed, the way it would go about.”
It occurred to me that I should indeed tell her all of it, and so I said, “It is a long tale, my love. Sit with me, and I will tell it to you.” I’d noticed her chair, and I gestured towards it. I would tell her the tale, at least, what I recalled. Inwardly, I sighed. I didn’t want her to be distressed.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 15, 2008 17:16:14 GMT -5
I bit my lip as I moved towards it, my eyes following him without breaking. I felt behind me and sat nimbly on the edge of my chair, my hands tucked and folded into my lap. All my concentration was placed on him, then, feeling out what he would say and questioning when I needed clarification. For now, though, I needed to know one thing:
"Why didn't you tell me about it beforehand, Gil?" My voice was quiet; I wasn't sure why he'd kept it a secret from me, and I was very eager to hear his answer.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 15, 2008 17:28:12 GMT -5
I sat at her feet, ignoring that the ~e~grass~e~ was a bit humid, and put my hand on hers. I looked at her a moment, gathering my thoughts. “Because…” I paused. “Because I love you, because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you to worry over me, again.. Because I could have died, rather than be here with you. It was a gamble, and as much as I would have wanted say goodbye…”
I looked away wistfully. “I would have preferred to die, than to cause you pain again.” It was true, all of it. There was no other reason, but those. My voice paused, down to a pensive, regretful murmur. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to protect you from myself.”
edit: grass for water. I'm an idiot.
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 15, 2008 23:50:29 GMT -5
I listened to him without interrupting him, wanting to know what was going on with him, what he was thinking. I didn't want to be intrusive enough to know just why he thought the way he did, but in the end, I was tired of always feeling like I was left in the dark, lost and lonely, not sure when the next bit of light would come. And if it did, whether it'd be snatched back away again.
I lowered my head to his and rested my forehead on his shoulder. "Don't apologize," I murmured. "I just feel so... It's like my entire life has flipped upside down and spun around enough that everything is inside out." I took in a sharp breath, sitting up again. "Say it again," I whispered, touching his face in hopes of him looking at me. "Tell me you're free."
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 16, 2008 0:08:15 GMT -5
Her voice was so tender, so gentle. It pulled me back from sad confined, and I turned to let my eyes dive into hers like a parched Bedouin on an oasis. "Thank you," I whispered. "And I'm sorry, again," I added. "It's partially my fault, at least a little, if your quiet has been so disturbed," I said gently. "Your forgiveness humbles me."
But she'd asked a question, and I would give her a reply. In her eyes, in earnest, I told her. "I'm free, Mirielle. It's me, just me. Gillermo Guisseppe Stregazza, Duca de Belafonte, brother of Cascata, son of Mylene d'Iz-entre-Mer and Guisseppe Stregazza, student of Stefano Calderon, and..." I shifted my face to kiss her hand reverently, "your servant."
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 16, 2008 0:46:53 GMT -5
I paused, then abruptly gave him a quiet smile. "Your middle name is Guisseppe?" I asked, realizing just how much of him I didn't know. A headache clung to the back of my head, and I sat up a little more, hoping to alleviate it by allowing my neck to stretch a little more.
"Congratulations on your freedom, Gillermo Guisseppe Stregazza, Duca de Belafonte." I toned it as he had, then smiled again.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 16, 2008 0:51:18 GMT -5
I shrugged, and made a comical face. "Don't blame me," I replied, chuckling. "Blame my grandfather Ricciardo, who gave it to my father. That, and the tradition of giving boys their father's name as a middle name."
I laughed a little, and said, "My name... It's too long, I know." I leaned back, looking at her. She looked tired, and I couldn't blame her. "But now that you know my dark secret... what's yours?"
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Post by Mirielle Bellamont on Jan 16, 2008 0:54:22 GMT -5
"It's even worse if you tack on the Ambassadorial part," I said, smiling back as he chuckled. "Luckily for me, there's no such tradition in my own family. It would be nice, though, to incorporate my mother and fathers names into my childrens." I missed them so, though it'd been thirteen years since their untimely death.
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Post by Gillermo Stregazza on Jan 16, 2008 1:13:24 GMT -5
"That's what that Orchis fellow said," I replied, laughing. "At the time, I didn't find him funny, but now I do," I added, grinning wide.
"But your idea... it sounds like..." I paused. I was about to say, like you would be a great match for a Serenissiman husband, "like a lovely idea," I said, catching myself. I'd promised myself not to press her, why would I go say such a thing?
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