Sheila improvised3 at once a line to supply what Eldon forgot. But she could not improvise4 a flame on a wick. Indeed, she had not noticed that the flame was missing. Even when Eldon, with the grace of a scarecrow, held out the cold black lantern, she went on studying the map and cheerily recited:
“Oh, that’s better! Now we can see just where we are.”
The earthquake of joy that smote5 the audience caught her unaware. The instant enormity of the bolt of laughter almost shook her from her feet. They do well to call it “bringing down the house.” There was a sound as of splitting timbers and din6 upon din as the gallery emptied its howls into the orchestra and the orchestra sent up shrieks7 of its own. The sound was like the sound that Samson must have heard when he pulled the temple in upon him.
Sheila and Mrs. Vining were struck with the panic that such unexpected laughter brings to the actor. They clutched at their garments to make sure that none of them had slipped their moorings. They looked at each other for news. Then they saw the dreadfully solemn Eldon holding aloft the fireless lantern.
The sense of incongruity8 that makes people laugh got them, too. They turned their backs to the audience and fought with their uncontrollable features. Few things delight an audience like the view of an actress broken up. It is so successful that in comic operas they counterfeit9 it.
The audience was now a whirlpool. Eldon might have been one of the cast-iron effigies10 that hold up lanterns on gate-posts; he could not have been more rigid11 or more unreal. His own brain was in a whirlpool, too, but not of mirth. Out of the eddies12 emerged a line. He seized it as a hope of safety and some desperate impulse led him to shout it above the clamor:
“It ain’t a very big lantern, ma’am, but it gives a heap o’ light.”
Sheila’s answer was lost in the renewed hubbub13, but it received no further response from Eldon. His memory was quite paralyzed; he couldn’t have told his own name. He heard Sheila murmuring to comfort him:
“Can’t you light the lantern again? Don’t be afraid. Just light it. Haven’t you a match? Don’t be afraid!”
If Eldon had carried the stolen fire of Prometheus in his hand he could not have kindled14 tinder with it. He heard Mrs. Vining growling15:
“Get off, you damned fool, get off!”
But the line between his brain and his legs had also blown out a fuse.
The audience was almost seasick16 with laughter. Ribs17 were aching and cheeks were dripping with tears. People were suffering with their mirth and the reinfection of laughter that a large audience sets up in itself. Eldon’s glazed18 eyes and stunned19 ears somehow realized the activity of Batterson, who was epileptic in the wings and howling in a strangled voice:
“Come off, you—! Come off, or—I’ll come and kick you off!”
And now Eldon was more afraid of leaving than of staying.
In desperation Sheila took him by the elbow and started him on his way. Just as the hydrophobic Batterson was about to shout, “Ring!” Eldon slipped slowly from the stage.
Little Batterson met the blinded Cyclops and was only restrained from knocking him down by a fear that he might knock him back into the scene. As he brandished20 his arms about the giant he resembled an infuriated spider attacking a helpless caterpillar21.
Batterson’s oration22 was plentifully23 interlarded with simple old Anglo-Saxon terms that can only be answered with a blow. But Eldon was incapable24 of resentment25. He understood little of what was said except the reiterated26 line, “If you ever ask me again to let you play a part I’ll—”
Whatever he threatened left Eldon languid; the furthest thing from his thoughts was a continuance upon the abominable27 career he had insanely attempted.
He stalked with iron feet up the iron stairs to his dressing-room, put on his street clothes, and went to his hotel. He had forgotten to remove his greast-paint, the black on his eyebrows29 and under his eyes, or the rouge30 upon his mouth. A number of passers-by gave him the entire sidewalk and stared after him, wondering whether he were on his way to the madhouse or the hospital.
The immensity of the disaster to the play was its salvation31. The audience had laughed itself to a state of exhaustion32. The yelps33 of hilarity34 ended in sobs35 of fatigue36. The well-bred were ashamed of their misbehavior and the intelligent were disgusted to realize that they had abused the glorious privilege of laughter and debauched themselves with mirth over an unimportant mishap37 to an unfortunate actor who had done nothing intrinsically humorous.
Sheila and Mrs. Vining went on with the scene, making up what was necessary and receiving the abjectly38 submissive audience’s complete sympathy for their plight39 and extra approval for their ingenuity40 in extricating41 themselves from it. When the curtain fell upon the act there was unusual applause.
To an actor the agony of “going up” in the lines, or “fading,” is not much funnier after the first surprise than the death or wounding of a soldier is to his comrade. The warrior42 in the excitement of battle may laugh hysterically43 when a friend or enemy is ludicrously maimed, when he crumples44 up and grimaces45 sardonically46, or is sent heels over head by the impact of a shell. But there is little comfort in the laughter since the same fate may come to himself.
The actor has this grinning form of death always at his elbow. He may forget his lines because they are unfamiliar47 or because they are old, because another actor gives a slightly different cue, some one person laughs too loudly in the audience, or coughs, or a baby cries, or for any one of a hundred reasons. That fear is never absent from the stage. It makes every performance a fresh ordeal48. And the actor who has faltered49 meets more sympathy than blame.
If Eldon had not sneaked50 out of the theater and had remained until the end of the play he would have found that he had more friends than before in the company. Even Batterson, after his tirade51 was over, regretted its violence, and blamed himself. He had sent a green actor out on the stage without rehearsal52. Batterson was almost tempted28 to apologize—almost.
But Eldon was not to be found. He was immured53 in the shabby room of his cheap hotel sick with nausea54 and feverish55 with shame.
Somehow he lived the long night out. He read the morning papers fiercely through. There were no head-lines on the front page describing his ruinous incapacity. There was not even a word of allusion56 to him or his tragedy in the theatrical57 notices. He was profoundly glad of his obscurity and profoundly convinced that obscurity was where he belonged. He wrote out a note of humble58 apology and resignation. He resolved to send it by messenger and never to go near that theater again, or any other after he had removed his trunk.
With the utmost reluctance59 he forced himself to go back to the scene of his shame. The stage-door keeper greeted him with a comforting indifference60. He had evidently known nothing of what had happened. Stage-door keepers never do. None of the actors was about, and the theater was as lonely and musty as the tomb of the Capulets before Romeo broke in upon Juliet’s sleep.
Eldon mounted to his dressing-room and stared with a rueful eye at the make-up box which he had bought with all the pride a boy feels in his first chest of tools. He tried to tell himself that he was glad to be quit of the business of staining his face with these unmanly colors and of rubbing off the stains with effeminate cold-creams. He threw aside the soiled and multicolored towel with a gesture of disdain61. But he was too honest to deceive himself. The more he denounced the actor’s calling the more he denounced himself for having been incompetent62 in it. He writhed63 at the memory of the hardships he had undergone in gaining a foothold on the stage and at the poltroonery64 of leaping overboard to avoid being thrown overboard.
As he left the theater to find an expressman to call for his trunk he looked into the letter-box where there was almost never a letter for him. To his surprise he found his name on a graceful65 envelope gracefully66 indited67. He opened it and read the signature first. It was a note from Sheila.
Eldon’s eyes fairly bulged68 out of his head with amazed enchantment69. His heart ached with joy. He went back to his dressing-room to read the letter over and over.
Dear Mr. Eldon,—Auntie John and I tried to see you last night, but you had gone. She was afraid that you would grieve too deeply over the mishap. It was only what might have happened to anybody. Auntie John says that she has known some of the most famous actors to do far worse. Sir Charles Wyndham went up in his lines and was fired at his first appearance. She wants to tell you some of the things that happened to her. They had to ring down on her once. She wants you to come over to our hotel and have tea with us this afternoon. Please do!
Sheila Kemble.
There was nothing much in the letter except an evident desire to make light of a tragedy and cheer a despondent71 soul across a swamp. Eldon did not even note that it was mainly about Aunt John. To him the letter was luminous72 with a glow of its own. He kissed the paper a dozen times. He resolved to conquer the stage or die. The stage should be the humble stepping-stone to the conquest of Sheila Kemble. Thereafter it should be the scene of their partnership73 in art. He would play Romeo to her Juliet, and they should play other r?les together till “Mr. and Mrs. Eldon” should be as famous for their art as for their domestic bliss74.
Had she not already made a new soul of him, scattering75 his fright with a few words and recalling him to his duty and his opportunity? He would redeem76 himself to-night. To-night there should be no stumbling, no gloom in the lantern, no gaiety in the audience during his scene. To-night he would show Batterson how little old Crumb77 had really made of the part, drunk or sober.
He placed the letter as close to his heart as he could get it, and it warmed him like a poultice. He would go shave himself again and brush up a bit for Sheila’s tea-fête.
As he groped slowly down the dark stairway he heard voices on the stage. He recognized Crumb’s husky tones:
“If you’ll give me one more chance, Val, I swear I’ll never disappoint you again. I’m on the water-mobile for good this time.”
Eldon felt sorry for the poor old man. He paused to hear Batterson’s epitaph on him:
“Well, Jim, I’ll give you another try. But it’s against my will.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, Val!”
“Don’t thank me. Thank that dub78, Eldon. If he hadn’t thrown the scene last night you’d never get another look-in. No more would you if I could pick up anybody here. So you can go on to-night, but if your foot slips again, Jim, so help me, you’ll never put your head in another of our theaters.”
As Crumb’s heart went up, Eldon’s followed the see-saw law. All his hopes and plans were collapsed79. He would not go to Sheila’s tea with this disgrace upon him and sit like a death’s-head in her presence.
And how could he present himself at her hotel in the shabby clothes he wore? She and her aunt were living expensively in Chicago. It was good advertisement to live well there; at least it was a bad advertisement not to. It was a bad advertisement for Eldon to appear anywhere. He was under the buffets80 of fortune. But he tore up his resignation.
Now of all times he needed the comfort of her cheer. Now of all times he could not ask it or accept it. He wrote her a note of devout81 gratitude82, and said that a previous engagement with an old college friend prevented his accepting her gracious hospitality. His old college friend was himself, and they sat in his boarding-house cell and called each other names.
点击收听单词发音
1 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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2 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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3 improvised | |
a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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4 improvise | |
v.即兴创作;临时准备,临时凑成 | |
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5 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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6 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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7 shrieks | |
n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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8 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
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9 counterfeit | |
vt.伪造,仿造;adj.伪造的,假冒的 | |
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10 effigies | |
n.(人的)雕像,模拟像,肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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11 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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12 eddies | |
(水、烟等的)漩涡,涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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13 hubbub | |
n.嘈杂;骚乱 | |
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14 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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15 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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16 seasick | |
adj.晕船的 | |
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17 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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18 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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19 stunned | |
adj. 震惊的,惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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20 brandished | |
v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 );炫耀 | |
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21 caterpillar | |
n.毛虫,蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
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22 oration | |
n.演说,致辞,叙述法 | |
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23 plentifully | |
adv. 许多地,丰饶地 | |
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24 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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25 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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26 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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28 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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29 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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30 rouge | |
n.胭脂,口红唇膏;v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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31 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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32 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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33 yelps | |
n.(因痛苦、气愤、兴奋等的)短而尖的叫声( yelp的名词复数 )v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34 hilarity | |
n.欢乐;热闹 | |
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35 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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36 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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37 mishap | |
n.不幸的事,不幸;灾祸 | |
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38 abjectly | |
凄惨地; 绝望地; 糟透地; 悲惨地 | |
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39 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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40 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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41 extricating | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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42 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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43 hysterically | |
ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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44 crumples | |
压皱,弄皱( crumple的第三人称单数 ); 变皱 | |
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45 grimaces | |
n.(表蔑视、厌恶等)面部扭曲,鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46 sardonically | |
adv.讽刺地,冷嘲地 | |
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47 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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48 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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49 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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50 sneaked | |
v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 );偷偷溜走;(儿童向成人)打小报告;告状 | |
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51 tirade | |
n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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52 rehearsal | |
n.排练,排演;练习 | |
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53 immured | |
v.禁闭,监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 nausea | |
n.作呕,恶心;极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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55 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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56 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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57 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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58 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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59 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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60 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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61 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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62 incompetent | |
adj.无能力的,不能胜任的 | |
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63 writhed | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64 poltroonery | |
n.怯懦,胆小 | |
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65 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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66 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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67 indited | |
v.写(文章,信等)创作,赋诗,创作( indite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 bulged | |
凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 ); 充满; 塞满(某物) | |
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69 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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70 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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71 despondent | |
adj.失望的,沮丧的,泄气的 | |
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72 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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73 partnership | |
n.合作关系,伙伴关系 | |
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74 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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75 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
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76 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
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77 crumb | |
n.饼屑,面包屑,小量 | |
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78 dub | |
vt.(以某种称号)授予,给...起绰号,复制 | |
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79 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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80 buffets | |
(火车站的)饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 ); (火车的)餐车; 自助餐 | |
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81 devout | |
adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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82 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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