Banco (Le livre de poche) (French Edition) () Henri Charriere, ISBN , ISBN ,, tutorials, pdf, ebook. Banco is a autobiography by Henri Charrière, it is a sequel to his previous novel Papillon. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version. the further adventures of papillon do you really need this pdf banco the further papillon henri charriere pdf - download now for free pdf ebook banco the further.
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Banco the Further Adventures of Papillon. Home · Banco the Further Adventures of Papillon Author: Henri Charriere. 87 downloads Views KB Size. BANCO the Further Adventures of Papillonby Henri Charriere translated from the French by Patrick O'Brien1 Flyleaf. Banco: The Further Adventures of Papillon, Banco continues the adventures of Henri Charrière - nicknamed 'Papillon' - in Venezuela, where he has finally won.
When do we leave? This article about a s novel is a stub. Another break, this time with a Colombian friend, and eventually Papillon reached hostile Indian territory, alone and on foot. I was not at all on edge about my first game. Do you get it?
He jumped in double quick, and there he was in Paris. It was raining when he walked out of the station. He stood under a shelter, figuring out how he would get to La Villette. Under this same shelter there was a girl who was also keeping out of the rain.
She gave him a pleasant sort of look. No one had ever looked at him like this girl. They began to talk. Discovering love was a fantastic, shattering experience for him. The girl was young and very amorous. I escaped. He was afraid to understand. They were completely overwhelmed and they both began to cry with shame and wretchedness. Then each described the road they had traveled.
Ginette and her other sisters had had the same kind of life as Jojo--homes and reformatories. Their mother had just come out of a sanatorium. The eldest sister was working in a brothel for North Africans in La Villette--hard labor. They decided to go and see her. After everything that had just happened, he no longer really knew what he was doing. He was reprieved by the President of the Republic and sent to the penal settlement. Indeed, one of the eider children has been at the university this last year.
Yet believe you me, he, too, had a long bill to present to society. Plenty of us have reasons for revenge. But as far as I know, not one of us has left this country to take it. I trust you, Papilion. My ideas were in a turmoil afterward. Why had he made such an impression on me? Easy to see why. It was a prudent, very modest kind of life.
Their position was lowly--they were workmen or peasants. Bougrat was different. For the first time I had seen an ex-con who was now a monsieur, a gentleman. That was what had made my heart thump.
Would I be a monsieur, too? Could I become one? For him, as a doctor, it had been comparatively easy. Sitting on my bench at the bottom of the second gallery the next day, I watched my pumps; they had run without a hitch. The thoughts ran pell-mell through my head. After all, there were plenty of other ways of getting enough money honestly.
I could carry on as an adventurer--I could prospect for gold or diamonds, vanish into the bush and come out some day with enough to set me up in the kind of position I was after. I took the long way around so as not to go by the storehouse. The less I saw of it, the better. I passed quickly through the village, greeting people and saying sorry to the ones who wanted me to stop-- I was in a hurry, and I climbed fast to the house.
Conchita was waiting for me, as black and cheerful as ever. Charlot told me to pour you out a stiff anisette before dinner. He said you looked as though you had problems. And he told me to 30 hold on before I put a girl in your bed--perhaps it was something else. I promise. Come on, Conchita, tell me the lot. As for my future--no problem at all. You guessed it: Before she had time to come back there was a knock at the door. The door opened and there was Maria, looking a trifle confused.
What a marvelous surprise! Sit down by me on the divan and tell me everything. As a lover she was shy, but she reacted to the slightest caress. I was her first man. Now she was sleeping. The two candles I had lit instead of the raw electric light were guttering. Their faint glow showed the beauty of her young body even better, and her breasts still marked by our embrace. Gently I got up to make myself some coffee and to see what time it was.
I knocked over a saucepan and woke Conchita. She came out of her room, wearing a dressing gown. You must have noticed it tonight. Maria has one touch of Negro, two touches of Indian and the rest Spanish. The splendid sun was high in the sky when it saw Maria wake up. I brought her coffee in bed. There was a question already on my lips. If you can stay without any trouble, stay as long as you like. Maria decided to hitch a lift home in a truck and come back in the evening.
He was standing in the door of his room, wearing pajamas; and he spoke to me in French. A luscious one, too: And you come back whenever you like-- the house is yours. Have a good day, Papi; watch out for the number three pump. The pumps ran sweetly, even number three. But neither the hot, wet air nor the beat of the motor kept me from thinking about Charlot. He had grasped why I was so thoughtful, all right.
Nor for Simon either; and Simon must certainly have told him about our conversation. They were hoping that this black-haired godsend would make me forget the blazing heap of loot.
I turned all this over and over in my head, and in time I began to see the position more clearly.
These good guys were now as straight as so many rulers; they were leading blameless lives. But in spite of living like squares they had kept the underworld outlook and they were utterly incapable of tipping off the police about anyone whatsoever, even if they guessed what he was up to and knew for sure it would mean bad trouble for them.
The two who would be taken in right away if the thing came off were Simon and Alexandre, the men who guarded the treasure. And then farewell peace and quiet, farewell house, vegetable garden, wife, kids, hens, goats and pigs. So I began to see how these former crooks must have quaked not for themselves but for their homes, when they thought how my caper was going to ruin everything.
I could see them holding a council of war. I had made up my mind. I must make them all think that having a girl like Maria was all I could ever want. The hoist brought me up to the open air. More than ever. And Alexandre, too, if he can come. I went around by the store and found Simon. Simon and his fine family were there, and Aiexandre, too, since he had found someone to fill in for him guarding the treasure. He had a charming wife, and a well-dressed little boy and girl came with them.
The rabbits were delicious, and the huge cake, shaped like a heart, lasted no time at all. We even danced to the radio and the Victrola, and an old convict played the accordion.
After a good many liqueurs I laid into my old crooks, in French. Did you really believe I was going to pull something off? Give the straight answer, Papillon. Multiply fourteen years by three hundred and sixty. So when I saw that heap of gold in such a place, why true enough, I did think of working out a job.
I was running the risk of destroying the happiness of you all. I came to see that this happiness of yours--a happiness I hope to have myself one day--was worth much more than being rich.
So the temptation of knocking off the gold quite disappeared. You can take my word for it: Long live Papillon! Long live Maria!
Long live love and freedom! And long live decency! Hard guys we were, hard guys we are still, but only toward the pigs. Charlot was right. On the day of the party I had won the first battle against my longing to pull something off. I had given up the idea of grabbing that million dollars. One thing was sure: I had to make my money some other way than stealing it, fair enough; but still I had to 34 get enough to go to Paris and hand in my bill.
And that was going to cost me a pretty penny. Boom-bom, boom-bom, boom-bom: It was hotter than ever. Every day I spent eight hours down there in the bowels of the mine.
At this time I was on duty from four in the morning until noon. Picolino had been there for a month, because in El Cailao the doctor could see him every day. He was being given therapy, and Maria and her sisters looked after him wonderfully. So I was going to see him and to make love to Maria: I found a truck that gave me a lift. They were all sitting around the table, apart from Maria, who seemed to be waiting near the door. Come and change right away.
And there we made love, not caring about the others who were waiting for us on the other side of the door. We dropped off to sleep, and it was Esmeralda, the green-eyed sister, who gently woke us late that afternoon, when night was already coming on.
Your confinamiento is over.
The 35 truck driver who brought me said he was going on to Ciudad Bolivar tomorrow. As he already had one passenger, P icolino would travel in the cab and myself on the empty iron barrels behind. I hurried to the chief administrator; he handed over my papers and, like the good man he was, gave me some advice and wished me good luck.
Then I went around seeing everybody who had given me friendship and help. First to Caratal, where I picked up the few things I possessed. Charlot and I embraced one another, deeply moved. His black girl wept. I thanked them both for their wonderful hospitality.
You would have done the same for me.
Good luck. And if you go to Paris, say hello to Montmartre from me. I hurried back to El Callao and said good-bye to all the miners and the gold and diamond prospectors and my fellow workers.
All of them, men and women, said something from the heart to wish me good luck. It touched me a great deal and I saw even more clearly that if I had set up with Maria I should have been like Charlot and the others--I should never have been able to tear myself away from this paradise. The hardest of all my farewells was to Maria. Our last night, a mixture of love and tears, was more violent than anything we had ever known.
Even our caresses broke our hearts. The horrible thing was that I had to make her understand there would be no hope of my coming back.
Who could tell what my fate would be when I carried out my plans? A shaft of sunlight woke me. Picolino was sitting in a chair, tears running down his face.
Esmeralda had washed and dressed him. He grasped me in the Venezuelan abrazo one hand holds yours and the other is round your shoulders , as moved as I was myself. God go with you. I led him away. A splendid exit from the town, all right: We had to wait for a new carburetor.
You can imagine the shrieks when they saw us coming back. Leave Picolino here and walk around the village while I get the meal ready. It worried me. I did not know Caracas, a big city, but people had talked about it and I could imagine what it was like. The idea certainly attracted me; but once I was there, what should I do, and how could I do it? I walked slowly across the square of El Callao with my hands behind my back. The sun was blazing down. I went over to an almendro, a huge, very leafy tree, to take shelter from the furious heat.
Under the shade there stood two mules, and a little old man was loading them. As I gazed at these things--they were still new to me--I went on pondering.
In front of me there was this biblical picture of a quiet, peaceful life with no sounds apart from those of nature and the patriarchal way of living; and I thought of what it must be like at that very moment in Caracas, the busy, teeming capital that drew me on. All the descriptions I had heard turned into exact images. After all, it was fourteen years since I had seen a big town! Since I could now do as I liked, there was no doubt about it--I was going to get there, and as quick as I could.
And it was the little old prospector singing. I listened. One of them chews an arm like an apple, Another eats his trunk and tra-la-la The quickest gets it, the rest have none.
Convict farewell; long live the law! I was thunderstruck. He sang it slowly, like a requiem. But to feel the full irony of it you had to have been there. I looked closely at the man: One of the most picturesque exconvicts I had ever come across. Snowy white hair with long, gray whiskers cut on the slant. Blue jeans; a big, broad leather belt; on the right, a long sheath with a curved handle coming out of it at the height of his groin.
I walked over to him. His eyebrows were so long and thick he surely had to comb them. Beneath them, steely gray-green eyes like gimlets bored through me. Come to my place over the way, the white house. We can talk there in peace. She was young, very young; perhaps twenty-five. He--God knows-- sixty at least. She was called Lola, a dusky Venezuelan. Yet I was a big shot in the clink.
No one came within miles of me for throwing the seven and eleven with dice just touched with a file--not loaded, of course. And even then, a con who was not a diabolically clever face reader might get it wrong. You had it easy, right? All it lacks is a casino.
I know all about it. I felt my temper rising fast. Well, mate, I have. A hundred men, every one of them with diseased guts. Some standing, some lying down, some groaning like dogs. Kilometer Twenty-four is not a working camp. For you, prison meant a holiday in the sun. I wondered how our meeting was going to end. Poor old Papillon: No point in getting worked up: I might need him. What are you doing now?
Eighteen boilvars a day. A fourteen-year stretch for a crime I never committed: Innocent, really innocent, cross your heart, or are you still pleading before the judge? I swear by my dead mother.
Well, I see that must lie heavy on your chest. Here the government is generous: All they let you use is shovel, pickax and sieve. A good way off in the bush. A good many days on a mule and then in a canoe and then on foot, carrying your gear. You find just one bomb and there you are, a wealthy man--a man who has women that smoke and fart in silk. Or, if you like it that way, a man who can afford to go and present his bill. A dozen, then a hundred, then a thousand. They smelled the gold or the diamonds the way a starving dog smells a bone or an old bit of meat.
They came flooding in from every point of the compass. They got sick of it, and then they heard the call of the jungle. The guy that finds a bomb never goes back to mining.
Even that means ten or fifteen times what he gets in the town. Then again, he lives as hard as possible, right down to bedrock; because Out there you pay for everything in gold or diamonds. But if he lives hard, he can still keep his family better than before. Brazilians, guys from British Guiana and Trinidad: There was nothing he had forgotten: Yes, you go off by yourself.
Do you want to know what I really think? Right or wrong? Remains to be seen. So come along into the bush with me. Not for me. Or has it turned you into a lemon, knowing that you can go where you like since yesterday? Jojo La Passe: Jojo the Craps. Where do we get them from, then? When do we leave? Slowly he stood up, pulled a table into the middle of the room, spread a blanket over it and brought out six pairs of dice.
They were not loaded. All you could see was shine. Neither seven nor eleven. He held the dice with the tips of his fingers.
And eleven! And seven! You want six? Six with four and two or five and one? There you are. Is the gentleman satisfied? I started on the Butte when I was eight. There were some very tough customers there. And among the regulars, as well as the tough guys and the pimps and the burglars, there were cops as famous as Jojo-le-Beau, the pimp cop 44 from La Madeleine, and specialists from the gambling squad.
And I took them as well as the rest. Just one difference: At the mine, you shoot and stay put. There are no pigs; the miners make their own laws. The adventure tempted me. It was risky, without doubt; those miners would not be choirboys--far from it; but there might be big money to be picked up. You got a gun? And then tomorrow, on my way for the diamonds! Once, siete! Et sept, et onze! I was there already; all I had to do was learn the numbers in Spanish, English, Brazilian and Italian. Caracas would be for another time; at present I was going off with an old white-haired Frenchman called Jojo to the diamond mines.
I dare say they did. Each one of them made three or four trips. They never came back. Did they settle down there at the mines? They were dead. Killed by the miners. Jojo must be a lucky guy, if he always got out of it. He never wins much himself: Is there a chance of coming back with a lot of dough after two or three trips?
Why does he go back there, then? I saw him loading the mules. Secondly, he was certainly not going off. Those mules belong to his fatherin-law. He made up his mind to go because he met you. What other advice have you got? What else? A long pause. When he looked up again his face was bright. And what else? Make them give you receipts in your name so as to cash them at El Callao or Ciudad Boilvar. Do the same with foreign banknotes.
Buenos noches. In the darkness, before I closed my eyes, I saw a heap of diamonds in front of me. The morning passed quickly. Everything was settled. Picolino was to stay there; he would be well cared for. I kissed everybody. Maria shone with delight.
She went with me as far as the meeting place. The sun will be down in an hour. No one can follow you at night. The virgin forest has its roads, called piques. A pique is a passage about two yards wide that has gradually been cut through the trees; and the men who pass along keep it clear with their machetes.
On either side, a wall of green: This is the selva, the tropical forest. It is made up of an impenetrable tangle of two kinds of vegetation: Although their tops are in the sunlight, the foliage of their wide, leafy branches makes a thick screen, keeping off all but a dim, filtered day. In a tropical forest you are in a wonderful landscape that bursts into growth all over, so as you ride along a pique you have to hold the reins in one hand and keep slashing at everything that gets in your way.
A pique where a certain number of people keep coming and going always looks like a well-kept corridor. He has the feeling of being as much part of the landscape as the wild animals. He moves cautiously, but with unbounded self-confidence. He seems to be in the most natural of all possible elements, and all his senses are on the alert--hearing, sight and smell.
His eyes dart perpetually from point to point, sizing up everything that moves. In the bush there is only one enemy that matters, the beast of beasts, the most intelligent, the cruelest, the wickedest, the greediest, the vilest and also the most wonderful--man.
We traveled all that night, going fairly well. But in the morning, after we had drunk a little coffee from the Thermos flask, my whore of a mule started dragging its feet, dawdling along sometimes as much as a hundred yards behind Jojo. I stabbed its ass with all kinds of thorns, but nothing did any good. Watch me. Are you coming?
At last I hit on a terrific idea and right away it broke into a gallop. It tore along like a thoroughbred, and I rejoiced, full of glee; I even passed the Captain, waving as I went flashing by. But a mule is such a vicious 48 brute the wild ride lasted only the length of the gallop. The animal rammed me up against a tree, nearly crushing my leg, and there I was on the ground, my ass filled with the prickles of some plant. And there was old Jojo, screeching with laughter like a child.
But at last, out of breath, full of thorns, perishing with heat and weariness, I did manage to hoist myself onto the back of that cross-grained, obstinate bastard. This time it could go just as it chose: I was not going to be the one to cross it. The first mile I rode not sitting but lying on its back, with my ass in the air, trying to get the fiery thorns out of it.
The next day we left the pigheaded brute at a posada, an inn. I dumped my load on the log table of an open-air eating house. I was at the end of my rope, and I could have strangled old Jojo--he stood there with no more than a few drops of sweat on his forehead, looking at me with a knowing grin. But just you tell me this: Use your noggin. If a guy turned up here, not carrying these tools, what would he have come for? With you loaded as you were, no questions.
Do you get it? Suppose I turn up with my hands in my pockets and I set up my table without doing anything else: And twenty yards of big piping and two or three sluices.
A sluice is a long wooden box with divisions, and these divisions have holes in them. You pump the mud into it, and a team of seven men can wash fifty times more earth than a dozen working the oldfashioned way.
No one can say I live off gambling, because I live off my pump. You get it? Hell, life is not cheap here. But very, very few diamonds. They found this place three months ago, and since then four thousand men have come rushing in. Too may men for so few diamonds. And what about him? The men who come with Jojo never have any luck. He seemed upset and he kept glancing at me sideways. Pretty soon, after he had talked to various people, Jojo found a shack.
Three small rooms; rings to hang our hammocks; and some cartons. On one of them, empty beer and rum bottles; on another, a battered enamel bowl and a full watering can. Strings 50 stretched across to hang up our clothes.
The floor was pounded earth, very clean. Each room was about ten feet by ten. No windows. I felt stifled and took off my shirt. Jojo turned, deeply shocked. Suppose somebody came in? Behave yourself. But behave yourself, almighty God: We knocked two rooms into one. It made a room twenty feet by ten. We swept the floor, went Out to buy three big wooden crates, some rum and paper cups to drink out of. I was eager to see what the game would be like.
The last joint we went to was a shed with a couple of tables outside, four benches and a carbide lamp hanging from a covering of branches. The boss, a huge, ageless redhead, served the punch without a word. The day you feel like sleeping here, come along. And you know a Corsican never betrays. The two blankets were laid out on the ground. No chairs. The gamblers would either stand or squat.
They started to arrive. Extraordinary mugs.
There were few short men: Every single one of 51 the shirts, though, was spotlessly clean. In the middle of the cloth, eight pairs of dice were neatly arranged, each in a little box.
Jojo asked me to give each player a paper cup. There were about twenty of them. I poured out the rum. Not a single guy there jerked up the neck of the bottle to say enough.
After just one round, three bottles vanished. Each man deliberately took a sip, then put his cup down in front of him and laid an aspirin tube beside it. I knew there were diamonds in those tubes. Nobody said much. These men were exhausted: Ha, things were beginning to move! First one, then two, then three players took up a pair of dice and examined them carefully, pressing them tight together and passing them on to their neighbor. Everything must have seemed in order, because the dice were tossed back onto the blanket without anything said.
Each time, Jojo picked up the pair and put them hack in their box, all except for the last, which stayed there on the blanket. Some men who had taken off their shirts complained of the mosquitoes. Jojo asked me to burn a few handfuls of damp grass, so the smoke would help to drive them out. Out of his silver-mounted belt, the gorilla--for he looked very like a gorilla--brought an enormous wad of boilvar notes held in a rubber band. The eight came up.
Jojo tried to shoot the eight. Chino managed to roll the eight, by five and three. Jojo had lost. For five hours on end the game continued without an exclamation, without the least dispute. These men 52 were uncommon gamblers. That night Jojo lost seven thousand bolos and a guy with a game leg more than ten thousand.
It had been decided to stop the game at midnight, but everyone agreed to carry on for another hour. I lay all my winnings, nine thousand boilvars. He covered a whole lot of other stakes and rolled the seven first go. At this terrific stroke of luck, a murmur went around for the first time. The men stood up. They all carry a gun and a knife. There were even some who sat on their machetes, so sharp they could take your head off in one swipe.
I ran the table on the islands, but I tell you I never had such a feeling of danger as tonight. The next day, a splendid sun arose fit to roast you--not a cloud or the least hint of a breeze. I wandered about this curious village. Everyone was welcoming. Disturbing faces on the men, sure enough, but they had a way of saying things in whatever language they spoke so there was a warm human contact right away.
I found the enormous Corsican redhead again. His name was Miguel. It was only when he spoke French, which he did with difficulty, that his Corsican accent came out. We drank coffee that a young brown girl had 53 strained through a sock.
I come from the penal colony. You escaped? I left Corsica before they could arrest me. He was really magnificent to see, this honorable bandit. In a couple of words I told him how things were with me; and I said I meant to go back to Paris to present my bill. Go about it as carefully as you can; it would be terrible if they picked you up before you had had your satisfaction.
You can trust me. Each one had his story. It was wonderful to see them, wonderful to listen to them. Their shacks were sometimes no more than a roof of palm fronds or bits of corrugated iron, and God knows how they got there.
The walls were strips of cardboard or wood or sometimes even cloth. No beds; only hammocks. They slept, ate, washed and made love almost in the street. And yet nobody would lift a corner of the canvas or peer between the planks to see what was going on inside. Esta casa es suya. A table in front of a solid hut made of well-fitting logs. On the table, necklaces of real pearls from Margarita Island, some nuggets of virgin gold, a few watches, leather or expanding metal watch straps, and a good many alarm clocks.
Behind the table was an old Arab with a pleasant face. I was just going to. I spent a very pleasant hour with him. Have you known any Arabs?
Some were very good and others were very bad. I class myself among the good ones. I had a son of thirty who was killed two years ago--shot. He was good-looking; he was kind. Poor old Dad. Who could tell where he was, or what he was doing? I was sure he was still alive--I could feel it.
Mustafa told me to come to his place whenever I felt like it-- for a meal or if I ever needed anything: Evening was coming on: I said thank you for everything and set off for our shack. The game would be beginning soon.
I was not at all on edge about my first game. As it was a Saturday, and as the miners religiously took their Sundays off, the game was not to begin before nine, because it would last until sunrise. The men came crowding to the shack, too many of them to get inside. It was impossible to find room for them all, so Jojo sorted out the ones who could play high.
There were twenty-four of them: As the big-time gamblers dropped out, they could be replaced from outside. Banco, and banco again! On and on: Every time one of them lifted his cup an eleven-year-old boy filled it with rum. Very soon the game heated up to boiling point.
I laid odds not only on him but also on the others, and that made him look sour. Jojo took the dice. He staked five hundred boll vars. I went in with a thousand. And he threw the seven! I left the lot, making two thousand bolIvars. Jojo took out the five he had won. And threw the seven again! Once more he pulled out his stake. And seven again! A little thickset man, as black as boot polish, his eyes bloodshot with drink. A Brazilian for sure.
He squatted there in his pink shorts, bare to the waist. I wondered what was going to happen; he scarcely looked at the dice but spat on them and tossed them back to Jojo. And up came the seven again. As if he was jerked by a spring, the Brazilian leapt to his feet, his hand on his gun. The moment he shot up like a jack-in-the-box my hand darted to my gun--it had a round in the breech. Jojo never stirred or made a move to defend himself.
And yet it was him the black man was aiming at. I saw I still had a lot to learn before I knew exactly when to draw and fire. At sunrise we stopped. What with the smoke of the damp grass and the cigars and cigarettes, my eyes stung so much they ran. My legs were completely numb from having squatted like a tailor more than nine hours on end. But there was one thing that pleased me: We slept until two in the afternoon.
I put on my trousers--nothing in the pockets! J ojo must have swiped the lot. He was taking too much upon himself--assuming that as the boss he was beyond all question. I know how to behave and the reason why I did that is on account of everything depends on mutual trust. A matter of confidence. Jojo had paid Miguel for the rum and the tobacco of the night before. Each man who wins a bundle leaves something on the table.
Everyone knows that. One night an appalling rain came hurtling down. Black as ink.
A gambler got up after winning a fair pile. Twenty minutes later the big guy who had been so unlucky came back and started gambling like crazy. I thought the winner must have lent him the dough, but still it seemed queer he should have lent him so much. When daylight came they found the winner dead, stabbed less than fifty yards from our place.
I talked to Jojo about it, telling him what I thought. So the only time I was in danger was during the game or when it ended. Sometimes that good guy Miguel came and fetched me when we stopped for the night. For example, one time four Brazilians spent the whole night propped up in the corners of the room, in the darkness. Very occasionally one of them would come out of the shadows into the hard light that shone on the blanket and lay a few ridiculous little bets.
They never took the dice or asked for them. Something else: No machete, no knife, no gun. It was on purpose, no doubt of it. They came back the next evening. Please improve it by verifying the claims made and adding inline citations. Statements consisting only of original research should be removed. This article reads like a review rather than an encyclopedic description of the subject. Please help improve this article to make it neutral in tone and meet Wikipedia's quality standards.
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