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The Era -- Day By Day

Harp

I'll Lock Up
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The subsequent death of six year old John Reichle elevates negligent driving to first degree murder
for Harold Mahoney; whose unnamed minor accomplice is equally culpable under the Felony Murder Doctrine.
Both will be considered emancipated minors who attained criminal majority whatever their intentions beyond
simple joyriding.
And James Lincoln Jr 30, will be prosecuted for attempted statutory **** and attempted murder of a child.
His sole defense is mental debility impaired judgement; which will fail exoneration before a sane jury.
And once incarcerated at Joliet Correctional charm school, Lincoln will receive ultimate justice.

The Aussie war brides refusal to leave home is heartbreaking to read; although such probably occurred
more often than is generally understood. Band of Brothers intrepid platoon lieutenant Spears; whom, in my
combat veteran jurist opinion should have been charged with murdering unarmed prisoners, apparently
wed an English lass who decided against American domicile.....

Interesting that Dragon Gal speaks of herself in the third person with deliberate intent depraved heart indifference mens rea actus reus affirmation. And she has her eye on Terry; whom doesn't know his own heartfelt inclinations when questioned by a superior regarding such. Terry's walking himself into a Cupid right cross.

American GIs stationed Japan cannot be asked to avoid fraternization or public displays of affection
with the local girls. Some of these stories are unbelievable. ...when I was six or seven, I asked my dad about
the Japanese girls during supper at the family dinner table. My mom answered ''Your father knows nothing
about Japanese girls.'' I was the proverbial precocious nerd kid who asked for all the facts. ;)
 

Harp

I'll Lock Up
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8,924
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^ Japan made a deep impression on my father, and I recall him talking about its beauty and people;
particularly Mt Fujiyama, the Imperial Palace, Kyoto and cherry blossom trees. He had dropped out of high school at fifteen to work in the Chicago Stockyards, eventually becoming a meat inspector and postwar cattle buyer for Wilson Packing Co. Korea drafted him overseas for two years, then he returned and married my mother; having four kids right off the bat. I never saw a book in his hand, however. If he read newspapers,
I can't remember seeing him with an unfolded paper either. The Depression left imprint even I as a kid could discern. My grandfather was a Chicago Transit Street car conductor with an eigth grade education. My dad's elder brother had served in the Second World War and had taken the GI Bill college route, breaking through
the clan's impoverished educational barrier. My dad died in a car accident at thirty seven, leaving a somewhat enigmatic figure in my memory, but Japan had an undoubted effect on him, though not enough to spur
taking his older brother's GI Bill route to college. :confused:
 
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LizzieMaine

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Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_1.jpg

("Y'know I don' like t'em t'ings," shudders Joe, as Ma returns the little automatic to its hidden drawer under the counter. "Oi know," acknowledges Ma. "An' Oi don't hoop ye ivvar have t' use it. But tharr's a lotta stickoops happ'nin' aroond lately, an' ye got t'be prepaared. We had woon in here a year arr soo back, ye knoo." "I neveh hoid about'tat," gapes Joe. "What hapn't?" "Oi boosted 'im crost th' head with a sack'a nick'ls," shrugs Ma. "An' thin me an' Barbara chlorofarrmed 'im, toied 'im oop, an' had th' boys throo'im in th' troock an' haul'im oot t' Laaang Oislan' an' doomp 'im in th' woods." "Oh," exhales Joe, his eyes flicking back to the hidden drawer. "Well, I s'pose..." He is interrupted, however, by the jingling of the door and the morose arrival of Uncle Frank. "Ye didn't see'ar, didjee?" frowns Ma. "Yistaaarday ye couldn't get th' troock staarted. What's yaaar ixcuse this toime?" "Oi couldn't get th' troock t' STAAAP," growls Uncle Frank. "Soomp'n's wraaang with th' brakes. Oi rooled roit past Toockahoe an' couldn' get the blooody thing t' stop till Oi was halfway t' Scaaaarsdale. Oi roon oota gasoline. Left th' troock oop tharr an' had t' hitchhoike home. Noo if ye'll ixcuse me, Oi'm goin' t' take a baaaath...." Ma and Joe watch him shamble toward the door to the back stairs. "Ye caaan't make a man," sighs Ma, "do a wooman's waaark." "Huh?" huhs Joe. "D'ye knoo what trains," exhales Ma, "roon t' Toockahoe....?")

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_3.jpg

("Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Y'see t'is? Anot'eh one'a t'em society dames runnin'a boiglary ring." "Takes awl kinds," shrugs Alice. "I knew somebody oncet -- um -- when I lived upstate -- got mixed up wit' sump'n like'at. 'Ney ast'eh why she done it, an' she said 'charity begins at home.'" "Yeh," snickers Sally. "But whose home?")

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_4.jpg

("Hold it right'eh," comes a stern voice. Heckie Capiello turns to face it, and a rockjawed man in a dark overcoat steps out from behind an L pillar. "What's ya name?" demands the man. "Harol' Teen," snorts Heckie, defiantly snapping his gum. "Don' gimme no lip, punk," growls the man, slamming the youth against the pillar. He whips out a wallet and flashes a badge. "You ain' from t'is neighbehood. Whatcha doin'eeh?" "T'ezza lawr gains' havin' a goilfrien' in Brownsville?" smirks Heckie. "Toin aroun'," commands the detective. "Getcha awrms up." The detective passes his hands up and down Heckie's sides, and grimaces as he reaches the middle of the youth's back. "Whassis?" he demands, yanking a canvas bag out from the waistband of Heckie's pants. "I neveh seen'at in my life," insists Heckie. "You musta drawpped it." "Awright, kid," growls the detective, snapping a pair of handcuffs around the boy's wrists. "Less go f'ra ride...")


Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_6.jpg

("I told you," growls Mr. Rickey, "to get rid of that preposterous sombrero." "I did," shrugs Mr. Parrott...)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_11.jpg

(That'll teach you to speculate in futures.)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_11 (1).jpg

("It's a simple plan, but we do have six weeks left on this story...")

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_11 (2).jpg
("Hey look, some plumber left his truck by the side of the road...")

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_11 (3).jpg

(Oh, I see, she's wearing a fascinator. I thought it was one of those $2 permanents from Namm's.)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_11 (4).jpg

(That's right, cut your losses...)
 

LizzieMaine

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And in the Daily News...

Daily_News_1946_03_23_290.jpg

Harold Lloyd didn't just go around wearing a fez, he was a leading figure in the activities of the Shrine, and helped to found the Shriner's Hospitals for Crippl ed Children.

Daily_News_1946_03_23_291.jpg

Shaugnessy the Butcher is laying in a good stock of butter...

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Well, look who made it home...

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Really though, doesn't his head look like a pencil eraser?

Daily_News_1946_03_23_304.jpg

Me after that time my brother threw me down a flight of stairs...

Daily_News_1946_03_23_306.jpg

See, Andy knows all this because he always reads the comics.

Daily_News_1946_03_23_307.jpg

Another sale for the Gentlemen's Support Garment.

Daily_News_1946_03_23_308.jpg

Just don't hire your kid brother. Your sister, maybe...

Daily_News_1946_03_23_309.jpg

Are there any other kinds of relatives?
 
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18,227
Location
New York City
Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_23_1.jpg


Back when you could still make a good living as a respectable jewel thief.

******************************************************

"Toin aroun'," commands the detective. "Getcha awrms up." The detective passes his hands up and down Heckie's sides, and grimaces as he reaches the middle of the youth's back.

Stop-and-frisk 1946 style.

******************************************************

"Hey look, some plumber left his truck by the side of the road..."

Nooooooo!

BTW, if I was Ma, I'd have someone blow that stupid truck up once and for all. "I know, Frank, it's a shame – who knows how these things happen – but now we'll have to buy a new one."

******************************************************

Harold Lloyd didn't just go around wearing a fez, he was a leading figure in the activities of the Shrine, and helped to found the Shriner's Hospitals for Crippl ed Children.

Very good for him.

Page 4 is all over the place today:

- What are the freakin' odds of Axis Sally being from Portland Maine?

- Kudos to the honest cab driver.

- And no punishment is harsh enough for the 3 rap*sts.
 

Harp

I'll Lock Up
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8,924
Location
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Chilling reading this morning. Mrs Dunigan's three assailants will be charged with illegal property trespass,
false imprisonment of two adults, and three minor children, **** with felonious assault and battery. I would add infliction of duress upon children whose memories are permanently scarred this incident.
Long prison sentences await in which further retribution will be meted under convict code.

Seaman Ochner and his Honolulu nightclub singer girlfriend are a sweet story, but Mama has other intentions.
Mama should consult a trusts and estates lawyer and secure Johnny's inheritance within an airtight trust;
however, her son's enlistment emancipated him into legal adulthood---but he hasn't inherited anything off the family fortune yet.

The ex-GI Battle of the Bulge veteran hack who returned the lost jewelry slipcase sounds like a former
101st Airborne Sreaming Eagle. An 82nd Airborne man would have pocketed the loot with typical
eighty deuceyhood larceny. Undoubtedly. :cool:
 

LizzieMaine

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Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_24_Page_1.jpg

("Well THAR HE IS," jeers Ma, as Heckie Capiello, his bravado somewhat dimmed by the events of the past twenty four hours, slouches thru the door. "Looooooove's Yoooong Dream! Stand oop straight whin Oi'm talkin' to ye! Oi see Francis gotchee oota th' joog, did'ee?" "I tol'm I foun'at bag awna sidewawk," declares Heckie. "An' I was gonna toin it in soon's I seen a cawp. But t'at plainclo'es di ck stuck'is face innit, t'at's awl." "Welllll isn't that a foine faaaairy staaary," sneers Ma. "Don' worry," retorts Heckie. "Ya name wasn' inna bag anyplace, an'nez no names onna slips. Jus' code numbehs like ya tol' me. T'ey won'be able t'figyeh none'v'it." "Hoo mooch money'm Oi oot?" demands Ma. "Maybe ten, twelve bucks," shrugs Heckie. "An' a lotta smawl change. You know t'em pikehs t'at bet witcha. Nickel 'eeh, nickel t'eh." "It's coomin' oota yarr wages," warns Ma. "T"way I see it, I saved ya money," reasons Heckie. "Any'a t'em bums hit, y'don' hafta pay awf." "Oh, tharr'l be soom hitt'n," threatens Ma, wringing her fists. "Wot th' blooody hell are ye doin' roonin' aroon Brownsville in th' faaarst place? Don'chee knoo thim boys play faaaar keeps?" "Ahhhh," scoffs Heckie. "In case ye doon't knoo, me foine yoong toomcat," glares Ma, "we gaaaaht an oondarstandin' with thim Brownsville gintlemen. We stay oota thaaar territarrry, an' they doon't SET FOIRE T'ME BLOOODY BUILDIN'! Now if Oi IVVAR HEAR --" But she is interrupted by the jingling of the door. "Hi Ma," calls Sally. "Leonoreh, go read a magazine while I tawk t'ya Gran'ma." "Why daaaaaghter," smiles Ma. "Yaaaar arrrly t'day." "Goin' t'see Docteh Levine at eleven stead'a noon," shrugs Sally. "She's gotta go oveh t' Brownsville t'is aftehnoon t'see 'eh sisteh." "Oi was joost tellin' Hector here," sparkles Ma, "what a loovely neighbarrhood that is." "Yeh," snickers Heckie...)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_24_Page_2.jpg

("Izzat a good deal?" queries Bink Scanlan, shoving the newspaper across the table at Dewes' Delicatessen. "What?" whats Rosa Capiello, squarely positioned behind an impossibly tall corned beef sandwich. "Nin'ey-nine bucks f'ra leppid-dyed coney? Y'know what'at is? Tat's rabbits, t'at's what'at is. Who'd do t'at t'wa rabbit?" "No," corrects Bink, pointing to another ad. "T'is heeh. Two bucks t'ride inna amb'lance." "I dunno," shrugs Rosa. "I neveh rid in one. I jus' pay a nickel an' take t' trolley." "T'at'd be kin'a swell, t'ough," muses Bink. "Two bucks an' ya show up at t' hawspit'l in style. People say, whozat, a moom-pitcheh stawr?" "T'en'ey see you," snickers Rosa, "an' awl is reveal't." "I'm gonna cawl'm up," declares Bink. "I ain' takin'a trolley, an' I ain' takin' no greazy cab." "Go ahead," shrugs Rosa. "Waste'cha money." "Um," ums Bink. "C'n I borrow two bucks?")

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_24_Page_25.jpg

(All roads lead to Brooklyn.)

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("Wiggling my scalp??")

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("What hat are you chasing today?")

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(They're pretty fussy at Martin's.)

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(I've never set foot in Mississippi, and gawdwilling I never will.)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_24_Page_46.jpg

(It's good to see Frank Morgan trying his hand in the comics, even if his dialect IS phony.)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_24_Page_48.jpg

(I understand that the Mayor has a few more dollars in his pocket now. Where's Mr. Amen when we need him?)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_24_Page_49.jpg

(Well, at least it's a plan.)
 

LizzieMaine

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35,404
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And in the Daily News...

Daily_News_1946_03_24_4.jpg

"In California, we think nothing of it."

Daily_News_1946_03_24_52.jpg

Mr. Hill gives his regular cast the week off.

Daily_News_1946_03_24_164.jpg

He's been trying to unload that dump for years.

Daily_News_1946_03_24_166.jpg

"I really liked the part where they passed around the bag of snakes."

Daily_News_1946_03_24_168.jpg

If you ever want to go into business, a monkey in a top hat is a pretty good start.

Daily_News_1946_03_24_169.jpg

When she met Terry, he was twelve years old. And she -- wasn't.

Daily_News_1946_03_24_171 (1).jpg

Ahhh, she's a bottle strawberry blonde.

Daily_News_1946_03_24_171.jpg

Who do you think you're kidding, kid? Rayon is rayon.

Daily_News_1946_03_24_172.jpg

How simply marvelous!

Daily_News_1946_03_24_175.jpg

ALL RIGHT YOU YARDBIRDS!
 
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"She's gotta go oveh t' Brownsville t'is aftehnoon t'see 'eh sisteh." "Oi was joost tellin' Hector here," sparkles Ma, "what a loovely neighbarrhood that is." "Yeh," snickers Heckie...

I believe your expression is something like circles within circles.

*********************************************************

It's good to see Frank Morgan trying his hand in the comics, even if his dialect IS phony.

Good call.

*********************************************************

Daily_News_1946_03_24_4.jpg


Something felt familiar in this story, but I couldn't place it until I looked it up: Nedenia Hutton would become known to us as the actress Dina Merrill.

dina merrill.jpeg


********************************************************

When she met Terry, he was twelve years old. And she -- wasn't.

But she has aged well and Terry needs an, umm, experienced woman to get the ball rolling.

********************************************************

You don't say...

And proving how some problems never go away, it was only in 2023 that we had a Supreme Court ruling on college admissions. My point is not to argue about the merits of that ruling, but to show how so many issues we read about here are still with us eighty years later.
 

Harp

I'll Lock Up
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8,924
Location
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Wasn't Dina Merrill married to Cliff Robertson?

After I repaired my secondary school transcript with some college, I had a real shot at Columbia,
which had reputation for veteran receptiveness. Cost factors kept me in Chicago, but the Apple locus
and university were a powerful draw. :(

Dragon Gal, like Burma, elicits wonder beyond mere carnal instincts. Milt-the-stilt could work his pencil
sketch imagination into a frenzied cartoon strip with extraordinary tease.

As to ani Semitism and other faculty foible found postwar poison Ivy League, the book to read is
William Buckley's seminal God And Man At Yale.
 

Harp

I'll Lock Up
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8,924
Location
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Cliff always struck a sure hammer on anvil with his character portrayals. I recall his JFK PT 109 role
and subsequent interview remarks that the president asked not to be portrayed as heroic but only steadfast in his duty as craft commander. I particularly admired his supporting actor slot below
William Holden's lead in The Devil's Brigade, which cast him as a Canadian Army officer subordinate
Dunkirk veteran to lesser experienced Holden. He fit hand in glove with complete credibility and a sure
deft touch to his work. :cool:
 

LizzieMaine

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Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_25_1.jpg

("Dance hawls," sighs Joe, "ain' what'ey useta be. Why, when Sal an' me useta go t' Roselan' -- OW!" He winces and grasps the edge of the counter as a jagged rasp of pain shoots down his thigh. "Whyn'cha siddown?" offers Bink, halfway thru a chocolate sundae. "I don' t'ink," grits Joe, "I'm eveh gonna siddown again. I'm gonna go t'ru t'nex' fifty yeehs stan'in' up. I'm gonna put a subway strap inna bedroom at home s'w I can hang awffa t'at an' sleep. An' put a quawrteh inna till f't'at ice cream, you do'wan' Ma t'catch ya freeloadin'." "Eh," ehs Bink. "She's ovehr'it. Whed she go, anyways?" "Tuckahoe," sighs Joe. "T' have it out wit' Jimmy's wife." "Seems t'me," offers Bink, licking her spoon, "she otta be happy t'not hafta have t'at big fathead hangin' aroun' no moeh. She can't stan' havin' people hangin' aroun' wit'ta dumb look onneh face, y'know t'at?" "Y'don' say," insinuates Joe. "Some people," asserts Bink, sliding her empty dish across the counter, "is funny t'at way...")

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_25_3.jpg

("Hmph," hmphs Sally. "Bes' dressed. I'll take Joe in doity ovehrawls eight ways fr'm Sunday oveh any'a t'em powdeh puffs." "I wisht Siddy would dress up once'na while," sighs Alice. "Misteh Ginsboig made'im t'at swell suit'a cloe's, but 'e don' hawrdly weah'rit. An' when he does, he awrways puts awn'at Woil's Faieh tie." "I dunno," snickers Sally. "Maybe awrange looks pretty good wit' blue soige." "It ain' like I'm complainin'," insists Alice. "But I mean, what if we wan'ed t'go someplace fancy like, I dunno, t' Stawrk Club, awr Howehd Johnson's?" "Well," observes Sally, "I don't t'ink Howehd Johnson's would min' awrange...")

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_25_6.jpg

(Adjustment is never easy....)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_25_11.jpg

(You don't have a first string catcher so of course the first thing to do is trade your first string catcher for a pitcher. Geniuses obviously operate on a higher plane of thought than the rest of us.)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_25_17.jpg

(Maybe you should just leave town.)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_25_17 (1).jpg

(Actually all she wrote was "I Hate Mary Worth" six hundred times.)

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(It's nice when criminals keep a regular schedule. Then you don't have to miss lunch.)

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(If you were ever going to turn invisible, this would be the time to do it.)

Brooklyn_Eagle_1946_03_25_17 (4).jpg

(Yes, but what will five minutes bring?)
 

LizzieMaine

Bartender
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35,404
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And in the Daily News...

Daily_News_1946_03_25_366.jpg

"Huh," huhs Sally. "T'at Greenboig ain' so bad afteh'rawl..."

Daily_News_1946_03_25_381.jpg

There are no lies like the lies we tell ourselves.

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After all, those first fruits won't sacrifice themselves...

Daily_News_1946_03_25_389.jpg

"Of course, there's that small matter of back taxes..."

Daily_News_1946_03_25_393 (1).jpg

She's working his way thru college.

Daily_News_1946_03_25_393.jpg

Leave while you still can.

Daily_News_1946_03_25_394.jpg

Stop faking it, Jon, she grazed your wrist.

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"Sure, and you can pull rank on Wilmer all you want..."

Daily_News_1946_03_25_398.jpg

If only Dude Hennick was alive...

Daily_News_1946_03_25_400.jpg

There's an art to a job interview...
 
Messages
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Location
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"I don't t'ink Howehd Johnson's would min' awrange..."

Seems like Howard Johnson's got confused and thought we were coming up on Thanksgiving.

**********************************************************

Yes, but what will five minutes bring?

I doubt it's intentional, but Beck is straying into philosophical social-welfare territory.

**********************************************************

"Huh," huhs Sally. "T'at Greenboig ain' so bad afteh'rawl..."

Yet no mention of the one must have accessory: an orange 1939 World's Fair tie.

*********************************************************

There are no lies like the lies we tell ourselves.

Amen (and as guilty as everyone else).

Oh, and sorry, Joyce, but nobody in real life can compete with the comicstrip standard of the Wasp waist.

*********************************************************

"Of course, there's that small matter of back taxes..."

B.O.'s eighty years early for the farm-to-table movement.
 

LizzieMaine

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''Book him Danno.'' ;)

What happened to Dude Hennick?:confused:

And anybody have any info on Burma? Inquiring minds want to know. :confused:

Dude was killed in a plane crash while flying supplies across the China mountains. Caniff revealed this in a heartbreaking strip toward the end of last year, in which he described the fate of the real man upon whom Dude was based, his college classmate Frank "Dude" Higgs.
 

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