Claudia sat stiffly in an armchair, waiting for Lee to get home from his Friday after-work drinks. She had declined to go. She’d had plenty to do.
At the sound of his key in the lock, she took a deep breath. Since she’d made her decision, she felt remarkably calm.
Lee stepped into the lounge, a frown on his handsome face. ‘Why are the cases in the hall? You didn’t tell me you had a conference this weekend.’
‘I don’t. I’m leaving you.’
Lee’s frown morphed into confusion, then anger. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘I wasn’t sure I heard right, with you just sitting there like that! You’ve already packed? We haven’t even talked about this. What the hell are you saying?’
‘I don’t see how I can put it any plainer, Lee. I’m leaving. We’re done.’
Lee threw his arms in the air. ‘Is this about the other day? Because if it is, you’re overreacting.’
Claudia could have lost her cool at that point, but somehow, she kept her voice steady. ‘I don’t think it’s overreacting to end a marriage in which it turns out you’ve been lied to the entire time.’
‘For crying out loud, Claudia. We went through this. Call it a misunderstanding, a change of heart, if you like.’
‘No, Lee, I don’t like. It may have started out that way, a long time ago. Now? Outright lies.’ She sighed. ‘You knew all along that I wanted a family. You said you wanted the same. You kept putting it off. I went along with that. But overhearing you telling those oafish poker-playing friends of yours that you’d never had any intention, that I’d come around to it once time ran out…’ Her voice hitched, and she fought to control it. ‘I’d say that was the trump card, wouldn’t you?’
‘I told you, I was drunk. I told you…’
‘You told me a lot of things, but for the first time, I listened to my gut instinct. This marriage might have been working for you, but I’ve come to realise it isn’t working for me.’
‘And what exactly do you think you’re going to do with yourself?’
Claudia ignored the derision in his voice; the assumption that she couldn’t go it alone. ‘I’m going to listen to my gut instinct more often, for a start.’
Lee snorted. ‘You and your gut instinct. That’s not the only skill you need in our business, Claudia. All your promotions at that firm are down to me. When I get promoted, you get promoted, because people know you go hand in hand with me. See how that works?’
Claudia shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I handed in my notice today.’ Lee’s eyes widened as she pushed on. ‘I’ll be filing for divorce. I don’t expect you to contest it.’ When he opened his mouth, no doubt to tell her where she could stick her divorce papers, with quiet threat in her voice she said, ‘I know your secrets at work, Lee. The way you operate. Nothing illegal but certainly morally underhanded. So I suggest you’re civil to me while I work out my notice, and that you play nice with the divorce.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you it’s the other way around, by the way? That you get promoted because I get promoted?’ The blank look on his face almost made her smile. Let him think that through at his leisure. ‘As for the flat? You can buy me out, or we can sell and split. I don’t care, but I do want my share as soon as possible. I have a life to live.’
Lee’s features betrayed his struggle to process the turn of events since he’d walked through the door after a pleasant couple of hours in a wine bar. His eyes narrowed. ‘Is there someone else?’
‘No. Just most definitely not you.’
‘Charming! You don’t want to talk this through?’
His question was half-hearted at best – the final proof Claudia needed that he simply didn’t care enough to fight for her.
‘Do we have anything to talk about?’
Lee remained silent for the longest moment, then finally sighed. ‘Truthfully? No.’
Claudia stood. ‘Then I’ll go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Debbie offered me a room. I’ll work out my notice while I look for another job. I only intend to stay in London until the divorce is settled and I have my share of the flat. Then I’ll live the life I want to live.’
‘Which is?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know yet. But I do know it will be as far away from London as I can go. I do know I will wear what I like, eat what I like, never go near another gym again, never spend every morning battling with hair straighteners, just to please you. Never have to keep my mouth shut at work for the benefit of you blundering your way up that precious career ladder of yours. Most important of all, I won’t be spending my life with a man who promised we wanted the same things, promised me a family – the one thing I knew I did want – but had no intention of delivering on that promise. A man willing to sacrifice his wife’s wishes and happiness for his own selfishness and who could lie for years to do so.’ She moved into the hall and hefted a case in each hand. ‘Goodbye, Lee.’
Claudia looked up as the doorbell jangled and peered at her potential customers. A teenager in substantial biker boots and a purple tie-dye dress over black leggings clomped across the threshold, her long, black hair streaked with purple, an air of sadness and anger advancing with her into the shop. Trailing behind, a man perhaps in his mid-thirties glanced warily at the goods on display.
Claudia went back to the friendship bracelet she was weaving. She didn’t believe in approaching customers. They would stay awhile or not; buy or not. If something was meant for them, it would catch their eye. Their purchase may only bring them fleeting pleasure, but Claudia always hoped it would bring them something more.
Surreptitiously, she watched as they browsed her Aladdin’s cave of crystals, beads, jewellery, textiles; scented candles, handmade soaps, essential oils; coastal wall art.
The teenager was antsy, picking everything up as though she would only know what she wanted once she held it in her hand. As that was often true in life, Claudia didn’t mind her handling the goods. Healing Waves was intended as a sensory space.
The girl’s reluctant companion remained a few paces behind, his facial expressions alternating between puzzlement and outright disapproval. His appearance – short, sandy-brown hair; conventionally dressed in jeans and collared T-shirt – was the opposite of the teenager, but their shared lean height and startlingly-pale blue eyes told Claudia they were father and daughter.
Claudia got the impression the man would rather have waited outside but didn’t dare, in case his offspring bought something unsuitable. Glaring at the small selection of fantasy figures she stocked, he picked up a mermaid embracing a dragon and stared at it as though he’d never seen the like. When he reached the shelf of self-help books and read the blurb on a pack of shamanic-themed oracle cards, she thought he might spontaneously combust with disapproval.
The girl gravitated to the counter to browse a stand draped with pendants of crystals and tumblestones.
‘What’s this one?’ she asked, holding up a smooth circlet of purple on a black leather lace, her Scottish accent suggesting she was an early-season tourist.
‘Amethyst.’ Claudia nodded her approval. ‘Good choice.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s an all-rounder. Calming and peaceful.’ Taking a chance, she added, ‘Good for anxiety.’
The father narrowed his eyes in cynicism, but the girl gave an unconscious jolt.
Smoothly, Claudia said, ‘And it matches your hair.’
‘I’ll take it.’ The girl gave her a tentative smile, but Claudia sensed it was a struggle, as though she hadn’t tried it for a while. As she handed over her money, the girl spotted Claudia’s cat curled in his basket at the back of the counter. ‘Oh, he’s lovely! Can I stroke him? Is it a he?’
Claudia smiled. ‘Yes, he’s a he. This is Pudding. He’s safe to stroke.’
The girl reached out black-painted nails to carefully stroke between the cat’s ears. Pudding opened one eye, decided she was acceptable, and closed it again.
‘He’s an unusual colour,’ the girl pronounced.
Claudia chuckled. ‘That’s the understatement of the year!’
Pudding was a mottled character, his fur a mishmash of ginger and black and brown and white. Depending in which light he languished, he could look like a tortoiseshell or a tabby, or sometimes, just a mongrelly mess. His half-ginger, half-black nose gave him a quizzical expression, and his white bib made him look like he was always ready for his next meal – which he usually was, and he could be quite vocal about it. His yellow-green eyes were, as with all cats’ eyes, rather mesmerising. Claudia could spend hours returning his steady gaze, lulled by his engine-loud purr, if she allowed herself to.
The girl took her change, and Claudia watched as they left, the father clearly relieved to be on his way out, taking his frown lines and pervading sense of weariness with him. She could have suggested something for him, too, but she doubted he’d be willing to wear a crystal in any shape or form.
Ah, well. You win some, you lose some.
Strolling back along the beach road towards the harbour, Jason already knew he would come to love the setting for their new home on the south coast of Cornwall.
On their left, the beach was uncrowded – for now – and inviting, the sea still and sparkling and undoubtedly too cold to toy with. On their right, grey stone or whitewashed buildings lined the opposite side of the road that ran alongside the beach, old and characterful, with tasteful shops and cafés interspersed among the houses.
As they walked, Jason tried to engage his daughter in conversation. ‘Do you like your new necklace?’
‘Wouldn’t have bought it otherwise, would I?’
‘Do you believe what that woman told you? About it having… abilities?’
Millie shrugged. ‘Dunno. I like the colour, anyway.’
Another sparkling exchange. Jason had been making allowances for Millie for a year now. Her mother’s death, her teenage angst… He’d thought that if he was patient things would improve, but it seemed to get worse rather than better. Over the past few months, Millie had got into some kind of goth mode he wasn’t keen on – dyeing her hair; wearing clumpy boots and dark clothes that either clung tight, emphasising her skinny frame, or dangled off her like rags.
Shops like the one they’d just been in didn’t help. Whenever they passed one of those hippie-dippy places, in she wandered like a moth drawn to a flame. Incense that made him feel nauseous, colourful garments from exotic places, statues of Buddha everywhere… He often took to waiting for her outside.
To be fair, Healing Waves wasn’t like that – it had a light and airy atmosphere – but Jason still wasn’t keen on the merchandise. What he was keen on was his daughter growing out of this weird phase of hers as soon as possible, before they both lost their sanity.
‘She’s pretty, don’t you think?’
Startled that Millie had initiated a topic of conversation with him, he asked, ‘Who?’
‘The lady in the shop where I got my necklace.’
His daughter was giving him a curious sideways look, and Jason wondered what to say. ‘Pretty’ wasn’t the word he’d use. Striking, maybe? Wild curls in every colour from gold to red around an attractive face; a floaty turquoise top to match the sea outside her shop.
Not keen on having an awkward discussion with his fourteen-year-old daughter about which aspects of women he found attractive, all he said was, ‘I suppose so.’
They reached the harbour, its boats bobbing with the tide almost in. Narrow side roads led uphill towards the wooded hillside that acted as a deep green backdrop to the bay.
Porthsteren was enough to serve their needs, Jason reckoned, with the Smugglers’ Inn at the harbourside, the General Store opposite, a cluster of other small shops here, and the few dotted along the beach road.
Leaving Millie sitting on a bench to watch the boats, he crossed the road to the General Store, low and white and long – presumably two or three cottages knocked into one at some stage.
They’d had fish and chips for supper the previous night, after waving the removals men off, and they had bought pasties for tonight. He would do a proper shop tomorrow, but for now, they needed bread and milk.
Plucking a carton of milk from the fridge, he headed to the counter where fresh bread sat on the shelves behind – slim pickings, so late in the day.
‘You must be our newbie,’ the woman at the counter said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Libby.’
Jason took in the stout, middle-aged woman with greying hair and a friendly face.
He shook her hand. ‘Jason Craig.’ How does she know I’m not a tourist?
‘I saw the moving van puffing its way up the hill yesterday,’ Libby said in answer to his unspoken question. ‘The men popped in for snacks after, so I interrogated them.’ She winked, as though this were perfectly acceptable. ‘Is that your daughter over there?’
‘Er. Yes. Millie.’
‘You’re both very welcome here in Porthsteren. It’s always good to have permanent residents to swell our numbers, and not just second-homers. Settling in alright, are you, my lover?’
Telling himself he would have to get used to this overfamiliar – to him, anyway – Cornish greeting, Jason said, ‘Yes, thanks. The house is still topsy-turvy, though. Boxes to unpack. But we’ll get there.’
‘Where have you moved from?’
‘Edinburgh.’
‘You don’t sound Scottish.’
‘No, but we lived in Edinburgh for the past ten years.’ Why am I telling her all this?
‘Millie will be starting school after the Easter holidays, I take it?’
‘Yes. She’s looking forward to it.’ About as much as if I were pushing her into the fiery pits of hell in a uniform.
Libby gave his hand a reassuring pat. ‘She’ll be fine. Kids are resilient.’ At that, she looked stricken. ‘Oh dear. That wasn’t the best thing to say, was it? We’re all so sorry to hear about your loss.’
Jason wasn’t sure who she meant by ‘we all’. Presumably the entire population of Porthsteren. He had no idea how these things got around without you imparting them. Had he mentioned it to the movers? Had his solicitor mentioned it to the sellers’ solicitor?
With Libby waiting for a suitable reply, he said, ‘Don’t worry. We’ve had time to come to terms with it.’
‘Ah well. A new start will do you both good.’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ I’m also sure I only came in for bread and milk, but it seems I have to endure the Spanish Inquisition to get it.
‘Have you explored today? Been in any of our little shops yet?’
Knowing it would be wise to show that he was making an effort, Jason told her, ‘We walked along the beach road. Bought pasties. Had a quick peek in the bookshop.’
‘Oh, I could spend hours there, if I had the time. Sarah and Evelyn have run that place for years. How about next door to them? Healing Waves?’
Jason tried not to make a face. ‘My daughter wanted to go in.’
‘You’ve met Claudia, then. She’s newish, too. Well, she’s been here a couple of years now, but that’s new to an old-timer like me. We all love her to bits,’ Libby gushed.
Jason’s cynical side kicked in – not that it was ever too far away. He didn’t believe in people who were as bright and shiny on the inside as they appeared on the outside. Everyone had their weaknesses, their flaws, their demons. Some were just better at putting on a front than others.
‘Claudia was like a breath of fresh air to this place, I can tell you,’ Libby went on. ‘And her shop is lovely.’
‘I imagine it appeals to the tourists,’ Jason conceded.
‘Yes, but the locals love it, too. Her soaps are to die for. She makes them herself, you know.’
‘No, I didn’t know,’ Jason murmured, wondering if he was expected to have some input or whether this was just a one-woman Claudia Fan Club monologue.
‘She runs her weekly meditation sessions in the upstairs room above The Porthsteren Page Turner. You could try those. Sarah and Evelyn run their monthly book club there, too. Leave the men to their pints at the Smugglers’ Inn, that’s what I say, and grab yourself a bit of peace at the other end of the village. Claudia runs the odd workshop, too. Crystals, oracle cards… They’re really interesting.’
‘I bet.’ If you’re gullible. Jason glanced at his watch. ‘Well, I should get on.’
‘Oh, of course. Just the milk, is it?’
He paid and fled.
The only downside to their new house was the steep climb up the road past the harbour. Jason’s calf muscles weren’t up to it, frankly, but he supposed they would toughen up. The spacious house, with trees providing privacy from the road and a sea view from the back garden, was ample reward – and not something he could have afforded, if it hadn’t been for… Well. Every very large cloud must have an infinitesimally small silver lining, he supposed.
He and Millie had trudged halfway up the hill before Jason remembered he’d never picked up bread.
They’d just have to do without toast in the morning. He couldn’t face Libby for a second time in one day. Jason felt like he’d left half his brain behind on the counter, and a chewed-off ear with it.
‘The season’s hotting up, and I don’t just mean weather-wise.’ Claudia squinted at the lowering April sun as she flopped into a chair on the terrace outside The Porthsteren Page Turner, a large mug of tea in front of her.
Sarah and Evelyn, proprietors of the bookshop and her very good friends, did the same.
Beyond the whitewashed stone wall that surrounded their café terrace lay the varying blue of the sea, the low sun sparkling across it like diamonds. A stiff evening breeze blew wisps of white cloud across the sky, but Claudia didn’t mind. Huddled in her fleece, she warmed her hands on her mug. It was good to be outside after a day indoors.
To her left as she looked out to sea, the sand led to rocks which gradually increased in size and number until they blocked the beach. There was no access to the bay beyond without going around by road. To the right, the beach stretched in a long, beige swathe to the harbour, where boats huddled in their walled shelter from the elements.
Paradise.
‘Best Saturday of the year so far,’ Sarah declared in her light American drawl mixed with an interesting West Country burr after decades of living in Cornwall. Running her hands through her short crop of bullet-grey hair, she lifted her feet onto the bench opposite so that Evelyn would take them onto her lap to massage.
‘It’s good to feel we’re coming out of the slow season,’ Evelyn agreed, her white-blonde plait loosening in the breeze. She obliged her partner by kneading the soles of her feet. ‘Been a slow winter.’
‘You won’t be saying that when the tourist hordes are baying for coffee and carrot cake,’ Sarah reminded her.
‘Have you heard about the new shop, Claudia?’ Evelyn asked.
Evelyn acted as a conduit for Porthsteren gossip, and although Claudia didn’t care for gossip herself, she accepted that it was unavoidable in a close-knit community like this.
‘What new shop?’
‘On Chapel Hill.’
Claudia frowned. ‘How come I haven’t heard about it?’
‘They’ve only just taken it on.’
Claudia was intrigued. ‘What’s it going to be?’
‘Even Libby doesn’t know,’ Evelyn admitted, looking so disappointed at this lack of information, Claudia smiled. ‘But there’ll be builders’ vans there as of Monday.’
‘Chapel Hill?’ Leading off from the harbour, Chapel Hill was a steep, narrow road of fishermen’s cottages, most now holiday rentals. The old chapel the road was named after, long since converted into holiday flats, stood at the top. A few of the cottages nearest the harbour had been converted into shops – Jenny’s hair salon, Yvonne’s card and gift shop, Ian’s holiday lets agency. That only left… ‘You don’t mean Hester Moon’s old cottage?’
Despite housing a newsagent for the past thirty years, that building was still better known as the cottage of a local legend – and purported witch – from the seventeenth century.
‘The very same.’ Evelyn held her face up to the last of the sunshine.
‘But it’s a wreck!’
‘It’s not as bad as it looks, apparently,’ Sarah declared. When Claudia and Evelyn stared at her, she said, ‘What, I can’t have my own lines of enquiry? I bumped into Ian this morning. He knows the agent who let it. It looks a mess, but it’s structurally sound. It only needs tarting up – new window frames, doors and all – and the inside completely doing out.’
Claudia laughed. ‘Is that all? Who’s taken it on?’
‘Ian couldn’t say. All he knows is, they’ve negotiated only paying rent for six months a year, April through October. I guess that means they’re after the tourist trade.’ There was an element of disdain in Sarah’s tone.
‘We all make a chunk of our living from tourists,’ Claudia reminded her.
‘I suppose you’re right. I’m surprised the agent agreed to that, though,’ Evelyn said.
‘That place has been empty for three years now,’ Sarah said. ‘Between the way it got run down and the superstition people have about it, the agent must be grateful for anything they can get. The building’s owners will do repairs and bring plumbing and electrics up to scratch, and the new tenants will do up the inside to suit them. Both sides gain. Remember how Claudia turned next door around.’
Claudia’s half of the white clapboard building they shared had certainly been run down when she first saw it, forlorn next to the thriving Page Turner, but she’d loved its position at the far end of the village, away from the bustling harbour. The walk along the beach appealed to plenty of people, and the Page Turner’s ongoing popularity drew them there. Once she’d seen it, then met Sarah and Evelyn, she knew it was where she wanted to be. And two years ago – almost a year to the day since she’d left Lee – she had opened the doors of Healing Waves.
‘An empty shop spruced up is a good thing for Porthsteren,’ Claudia said.
‘But what if it’s another café?’ Evelyn wondered.
‘Porthsteren can take another café,’ Sarah reassured her. ‘Especially if it’s only open in the summer months.’
‘It couldn’t take another bookshop, though.’
Sarah only grunted. ‘They’re welcome. Then we could think about retiring!’
Sarah and Evelyn didn’t live above their shop, as Claudia did, but in a lovely cottage ten minutes inland – the perfect place to consider retirement when the time came… although Claudia hoped that wouldn’t be any time soon.
Claudia glanced back at her own flat over Healing Waves, set back a little so that it didn’t sit quite flush with the shop frontage. It may be small, but she and Pudding didn’t have far to walk to work, and she couldn’t complain about the view.
‘Well. Time for home.’ Sarah reluctantly lifted her aching feet from Evelyn’s capable hands. ‘See you tomorrow, honey.’
Claudia stood, too. Retrieving her cat from the shop, she climbed the outdoor metal stairs to her flat, Pudding loudly demanding to know where his dinner was. That dealt with, she poured herself a glass of Saturday-night wine and decided everything else could wait, including her evening yoga.
Barely waiting until she’d sunk onto her squashy sofa amidst blue and green cushions, Pudding jumped onto her lap, circled, then flopped in his chosen position. Sipping wine, Claudia closed her eyes and concentrated on centring herself to his rhythmic purr.
This was the life she wanted, the life she worked hard for, and she was grateful every day that she’d had the courage to make it happen.
What she wasn’t grateful for were her aching feet and the fact that she had to make her own dinner.
Claudia took advantage of her shorter Sunday hours to spend the morning reading on the beach, wrapped in a shawl, a warm, flat rock at her back.
The sea drew Claudia like a magnet, and she rarely missed her daily fix – a read, a walk, even just five minutes watching the waves. This morning, the spring sun was a bonus.
Hearing the playful bark of a dog let off its leash, she glanced up to see it heading like a bullet for the water. It launched itself into the sea, fetched its ball, came back out and shook itself thoroughly, drenching its owner and making Claudia smile. Dogs were the kings of mindfulness, Claudia thought – the present was all that mattered to them. Joy in the moment. Humans could learn a lot from their canine friends.
Further along, she spotted the girl with vivid hair who’d bought the amethyst the day before, standing morosely at the water’s edge. Unable to ignore the sadness that the girl wore like a cloak, she left her book on a rock and strolled over.
‘Hi there. Enjoying your amethyst?’
The girl turned, startled, her hand at her throat where the purple stone lay flat and smooth. ‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘My name’s Claudia.’ She held out a hand.
The girl shook it awkwardly. ‘I’m Millie.’
‘Not with your dad today?’
‘He has stuff to do.’
‘Ah.’ Claudia noticed how much Millie stood out, black and purple and defiant amidst the muted beiges and blues of the beach. ‘I love to paddle, don’t you?’ She slipped off her canvas pumps and allowed the cold water to slide over her toes and then her ankles, watching out of the corner of her eye as Millie weighed up temptation against the hassle of removing her laced-up boots. Temptation won.
‘Your mum’s not here with you, either?’ Claudia asked. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
Millie’s eyes became shuttered. ‘No. She died last year.’
Claudia’s heart sank. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Millie shrugged, a deliberately casual gesture. ‘We’re used to it, pretty much.’ She eyed Claudia from beneath mascara-laden lashes, and when Claudia didn’t press for more information, she added, ‘She got cancer.’
‘That must have been hard for you,’ Claudia said with heartfelt sincerity. ‘For your dad, too.’
Another shrug. ‘They were getting divorced. Before the diagnosis, anyway.’ There was a hitch in Millie’s voice which Claudia tactfully ignored.
What could you say about a wretched situation like that? But say something she must. She’d intruded on the girl’s solitude and unwittingly opened a can of worms in the process.
‘I know it sounds corny, and you must have heard it from every well-meaning person since your mother died, but it is surprising what time can do. Eventually.’
‘How do you know? Did your mother die when you were thirteen?’
‘No. My mother’s alive and well and onto her third marriage in the south of France. But I do know people who’ve suffered loss.’
‘Not you, though,’ Millie said stubbornly.
Claudia sighed. She’d led herself down this very difficult cul-de-sac, and now she would have to offer up a small part of herself to get out of it.
Serves you right for interfering.
‘No, but I have been through a painful divorce.’ She looked Millie in the eye. ‘That can’t begin to compare with what you’re going through, but I was very hurt, and I did have to start all over again. With time, the pain got less. The loss of a mother must be a million times worse, but I truly believe the principle’s the same.’
‘Do you have children?’ Millie asked curiously.
‘No.’ And that was as much personal information as Claudia was willing to give, even if she was responsible for starting this conversation. Picking up a flat pebble, she skimmed it across the water. Three bounces. She tried again. Four this time.
‘How do you do that?’
Claudia showed Millie how to choose a round, flat stone; the sideways stance; the throw.
Millie tried to copy, and Claudia was struck by how pretty she was when she concentrated and forgot to scowl. Just as she was getting frustrated, she managed a single bounce, then a double. Then she complained her arm was aching, and the scowl came back.
Claudia began to stroll along the shoreline, pumps in hand, and Millie fell in beside her. Two strangers with nothing to say to each other.
Claudia didn’t mind the silence. Sometimes it was best not to try to fill it. Silence might help Millie enjoy the sensation of the breeze playing across her skin, the feel of sand between her toes. The sound of the waves, dogs barking, kids laughing, spades digging.
At the end of the bay, nearing the harbour, Claudia glanced at her watch. ‘I should get back. I open at one on a Sunday.’ She smiled. ‘Until the summer season gets going, then I’ll change it to eleven.’
‘You don’t get a day off?’
Claudia began the walk back, Millie at her side. ‘There’s an informal consensus here in Porthsteren that if we want to close, we do it on Wednesd. . .
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