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ORIGINAL.

THE THUNDER STOR M.

A TALE.

"WHAT a dreary spot!" exclaimed Edward Gra- cate vein, and almost every feeling and emotion ham, as he gazed around him—“ Nature, when she apparent. Her hair was of a fine glossy golden threw her spring robe over Vermont, seems to have hue, and her expressive eyes bright grey. The forgotten this place." But Graham was wrong-dress of this young Vermontese was very simple, Nature had once rendered this forest as beautiful consisting of a calico frock, straw hat, and white as any in that fertile state; but the hand of man muslin cape. Whether he was in an uncommon had been there, and now a once extensive range romantic mood, or that the interesting situation in of noble hemloek and pine trees, presented to the which he beheld her, threw such an inexpressible eye, melancholy groups of tall blackened trunks, charm over her, our hero could not decide, but he leafless and branchless. It was in truth a dismal certainly felt he had now seen the fairest of her scene, and solitude and desolation dwelt around; kind. here and there, indeed, a few wild flowers reared their brilliant heads from amid the universal gloom, like fire-flies in the darkness of night. The scene however, was diversified occasionally, by large tracts in which the trees, severed six feet from the ground, presented at a distance, the appearance of an army; the suow's depth in winter, not admitting

the farmer to cut them closer.

The only beings our young traveller met with, in this lonely region, were a few hardy farmers, employed in cutting logs, or driving their wagons of bark to the bark-mills; and occasionally a drove of horses, destined for the markets of Albany, or perchance New York. Anxious to quit so cheerless a scene, Edward urged his horse, and soon left it behind him. The view which now greeted him was beautiful in the extreme. The hill he had ascended was one of those which covered all that part of the state, over which nature had thrown a rich mantle of evergreen. Those patches of rusty red which marred the beauty of the green hills, indicated the spots where man, with the aid of fire, was clearing himself a place to gain a "habitation and a name." But the traces of man were not read only in destructive characters in this woodland retreat, for many a pretty village was seen peeping out from the green valleys, which, with the glittering stream, rustic bridge, saw-mill, and chureh, formed a lovely and interesting point in the landscape; while with the Verd Mountains on one side, and a distant glimmer through the trees, of the blue waves of Champlain on the other, young Graham felt fully compensated for the dreary scene he had passed through.

"Ah!" he said to himself, "could it but be my fate to retire from the world, in one of these rustic cottages, with one so pure and fair, then indeed I might hope to be again virtuous and happy. But no," he added with a sigh, "such happiness must never be for one of my profession. I must ever be a restless, wretched wanderer, living on the applause of a changeful public. Peace and rest are not for me."

Edward was aroused from these reflections, by a singular noise near him. He looked around for some time in vain, but at length espied a large rattlesnake, within a few feet of the fair object of his thoughts. The reptile's tail stood erect, quivering with extreme velocity, preparing to spring on the unconscious girl. There was not a moment to be lost: Edward dashed through the fence, and seizing the young girl, bore her from her perilous situation some distance. Her companions started up, and stood looking on in terror and amazement, huddled together, unable to comprehend the scene; like a group of frightened deer they looked around timidly and fearfully, as if uncertain whether to separate and fly, or remain together. Edward, however, soon reassured them; but when they learned there was a rattlesnake near, with one movement they all gathered up their baskets, bounded over the fence, and gained the road. Edward had the pleasure of assisting his golden-haired beauty, as she could not step on her injured foot without pain. When she had rejoined her companions, she thanked Edward with much grace and sweetness, for the service he had done her, and bade him good morning.

"No, no," said Edward, "my services are not over yet-you are too lame to walk, and I will bring my gig round and take you home."

As Edward gazed around, he was surprised at hearing, in this wild place, the music of gay and happy female voices near him. With the curiosity natural to one of his years, he left his gig, walked He ran off without awaiting her answer, and silently through the trees, and soon came to a large while he was gone, the young girls held a consulfield, over which were groups of young girls, gath- tation whether she had better accept the offer; but, ering strawberries. The fence which bounded this as her lameness was too great to allow her to walk, field, was formed of immense roots, laid side by and her fears of the snake would not let her remain side, and forming a screen, through which he gazed in peace, she allowed herself to be handed in the unseen. Near him was a group, in the midst of gig. After a drive of a mile, they arrived at her which sat a young girl, who, he learned from their home: it was a smart two story wooden house. conversation, had sprained her ancle, and the oth-painted white, with a red roof, and green windowers were on the point of returning for a convey- shutters. There was a pretty porch in front, coverance to take her home. She was a lovely being; ed with honey-suckle and sweet-briar, while lilacs her fair complexion rendered apparent every deli- and white roses bloomed around. They stopped

"You came across the country from Boston, perhaps."

Graham, amused by their questions, determined to be very laconic; but seeing all eyes turned on him at the close of every inquiry, in great anxiety to discover where he came from, he concluded to take compassion on their curiosity, and answered, "I came from New York, and passed through Ben

at the rail fence which bounded the field in front,
and a little boy ran down from the house, let down
the bars, and Edward drove through; while the
horses and colts which ran loose about the premi-
ses, came frisking up to greet the new comer. The
dashing gig, with its glittering brass harness,
whirled up to the door: an old farmer came out,
pulled up his collar, turned down the cuffs of his
coat, and prepared to hand out the lady. "Law-nington, to this place."
ful heart!" he exclaimed, when he beheld his
daughter alight, "is this you Elizabeth? Why, as
sure as a gun, I thought it was some grand lady,
driving up in such style. But how in the name of
sense did you get in that gig?"

1

Elizabeth in a few words gave her father and the group collected round him, an account of her accident, and her rescue from the rattle-snake.

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'By gun!" exclaimed her father, "that was a narrow escape. I am sure I am much obliged to you, sir; you have done my gal a rale sarvice, and I hope me and mine will always be grateful for it. But come in. Josiah, take the gentleman's horse." 'No, I thank you,” said Edward, “I am going to the village."

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Why, what makes you in such a hurry, young man? Can't you stop a bit? you han't been to dinner, have you?"

"No."

"Well, then, you sha'nt stir a step," said the farmer, with true Vermont hospitality; "it is pretty nigh to one o'clock, and I reckon you will find them all done dinner at the village. We should have finished ours long ago, had we not waited for Lizzy, here." He beckoned to a little urchin, with hair bleached white by the sun and wind, who stood gaping at the group, and he, on a sign from his father, sprang with glee into the gig, and drove it up to the barn. The whole party soon after cntered the house, and seated themselves around the table. Besides Elizabeth and her father there were her too brothers, and her mother. Mrs. Chapman was a good looking woman-her sharp nose, bright eyes, and the quick look she threw around the room, proclaimed her to young Graham a notable housewife, who took care of her goods and chattels, advised her husband, and scolded her

children.

"We can't give you any notions, such as you get in the great cities," said Mr. Chapman, " but here's some veal of my own raising, and as nice a piece of pork as you will see in the states, I warrant you. It is my own curing. Give me such a piece of pork as that," he added, patting it with a knife, with the air of a connoiseur, "and a few greens, and I don't care for any thing else, all the year

round."

"I

"Indeed it is very superior," said Edward. have not seen any thing like it in my travels." "You come from the south, it's likely," inquired Mr. Chapman.

"Yes," was the answer.

"Are you from Albany ?"

"No, I am not."

"Have they got the new steamboat on the Champlain yet?

"Not on a journey of pleasure to these wild parts, I guess."

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You are right-although I do not know a finer country to travel through: but I came on business, to look at some lands which Mr. Gardiner, of New York, is about to purchase. They lie somewhere near this next village. I have a letter to a Mr. Peabody; do you know such a person?"

reckon. He lives in the town, just opposite Col. "Oh yes, very well. It is our old deacon, I Bennet's tavern. Some of my folks will go with you to direct you. I would go myself, but I am considerable busy, just now."

"It is of no consequence," said Graham; "I have no doubt I shall find it myself."

"Elizabeth now placed two pieces of pie on each one's plate, one of currant and one of cherry, which Edward tasted with much pleasure, coming from such fair hands, in spite of the old lady's ejaculation, that the crust was as hard as Pharoah's heart. A pitcher of cider, and a plate of sage cheese, from their own dairy, completed the repast. Fearful of detaining the family from the field, Graham arose and asked for his gig. They all shook hands with him at parting, urging him to ride over often, and take pot luck' with them. He declined the offer of company, and drove off to B. The tavern was easily distinguished by the immense swinging sign, pourtraying the head of Washington. The door stood open, but in vain Graham knocked and thumped; no one came. He then halloed loudly, and a boy ran to him from a cornfield next the house. There's no one at home," he said; we 'm all in the field hoeing, but daddy sent me to see what you wanted."

"What I want! a pretty question, truly! What do you think I want, when I drive up to a tavern. Put up my horse immediately, and then send your father here to see what I want. Why do you not unharness him?-What are you gaping at, you little rascal?”

"I'm no rascal, sir," said the boy quietly, and putting one hand to the top of the fence, he sprung over, and was soon hard at work again.

Incensed beyond measure, Edward advanced to the fence, where there were many at work, and called loudly. No one answered, nor did they even raise their heads, but continued quietly hoeing, as if they heard him not. What a set of damned uncivil villains you are," he exclaimed, his wrath raised to a great pitch.

A voice beside him said, in a calm tone-" My good sir, this is not the way to get a favor from freemen: we put up with no abuse from strangers here."

Edward was at once cooled down by this speech. He had lived so much among people who are used "Indeed I do not know: I did not come that to indulge in such language to those whom they

way."

consider beneath them, that he had forgotten he

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grew up around him. In course of time he became smitten with the charms of the minister's daughter. married her, and soon after arrived at the honors of a deaconship. His family soon became too large for his small cottage, and he determined to build one which would eclipse all in the town, and do honor to his taste and wealth. This was the house which our traveller was now approaching. It was a double wooden house, painted white; over the door was a tasteful fan sash, which, with the sidelights, were lined with bright colored house-paper. Curtains of the same, hung before each window, which gave the house quite a dashing appearance, and excited the admiration of all who passed through B―.

"In this case it is a favor. Col. Bennet, the Alas! the deacon's funds came to an end before owner of this house, is quite a rich and indepen- his lordly mansion was quite finished; for the good dent man. Half the village belongs to him, and man's ideas were so vast that he made the house he keeps tavern principally to oblige those who too large, and thus expended all that had been appass through the town, and the committees, town-propriated to building the whole. Accordingly, meetings, etc. There is not travelling enough to support a man who has no other profession, and now that Col. Bennet has offered his house for the purpose, his sons think they are obliging those they serve. They are likely lads, and never refuse to do any thing for civil folks."

there were many things left unfinished until money should be more plenty. The most conspicuous defalcation occurred at the entrance of the house, for the flashing doorway was without porch or steps, and the family were obliged to enter and leave the mansion on a board. Some of the rooms were unfurnished, but they could be well spared notwith

"Well, well!" said Edward impatiently, "I stand corrected. Have the goodness, sir, to pre-standing the deacon's large family. The front sent my humble compliments to the most worshipful Colonel, and ask him if he will be so extremely condescending as to permit one of his august sons to give my horse some oats."

The stranger smiled, shrugged his shoulders, advanced to the fence, and soon arranged all to their satisfaction. Col. Bennet, who was hoeing in his shirt sleeves, now took up his waistcoat and coat, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and came forward, followed by the boy. "Good day, Colonel," said Edward, holding out his hand, "I am a stranger here, and wish to remain a few days. Can you accommodate me in your house ?"

"Why yes," said Colonel Bennet, frankly shaking hands with him, "I rather guess I can."

"Thank you, sir; I have two more favors to ask. Will you be so good as to let my horse be taken care of, and then direct me to one Deacon Peabody, who lives in this village, I think."

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parlor, into which Edward was shown, looked very comfortable and neat. There was a gay ingrain carpet on the floor-chairs highly gilded, each exhibiting on the back, landscapes of the countrya looking-glass, part of which was painted to represent a shepherdess and sheep-dimity curtains with deep netting and fringe: the mahogany sideboard and table shone like silver, while on the former figured a row of bright tumblers and pitchers, gaudy with blue and red gilding, and on the latter reposed the family bible, covered with canvas, worked by the fair hands of the deacon's motherin-law. The deacon, as he ushered in his guest, looked around him with an air of satisfaction, for his parlor was furnished as well as any in the town; besides, it was the fruit of his own labor, and he might be pardoned for a slight degree of pride on the subject.

Graham sat talking with the deacon until five o'clock, when the daughter of his host entered to say that tea was on the table. Edward was conducted into a back room, which was furnished very much as the one he had left, except that the carpet was no foreign importation; it was spun, colored, and woven by the mistress of the mansion. This lady was occupied pouring tea when they entered, but arose to give Edward a kind, although rather a grave welcome. Her daughters and sons were around her, but so very reserved that Edward, after several attempts, gave up all thoughts of conversation, except with the father. Their gravity did not arise, however, from pride, or any inhospitable feeling, as they were all very anxious to help him to the good things around him, and loaded his plate with strawberries and cream, with cucumbers, pies, cake, and rye bread.

Why, I reckon that wo'nt give me much trouble," said the military Boniface, with a grin, " for he's standing along side of you." Edward shook hands smilingly with the deacon, and soon produced his letters. Deacon Peabody requested Graham to step over and take a social dish of tea with his family; so bidding adieu to Colonel Bennet, they crossed the road to the deacon's house. Recompense Peabody was the tenth son of a Connecticut farmer. As they grew up, these lads were smitten with a spirit of emigration, and nearly all left the parental roof for a larger field of labor. Recompense wandered to Vermont, and hired himself out to clear lands, hew logs, or occasionally to work at the sawmills. He made a small sum this way, and was soon able to buy a few acres of wild land for himself. Here he built a log cabin, and set up a potash establishment. Being very indus- Mahitable, the eldest daughter, was a rosytrious, economical, and enterprising, he soon real-cheeked girl, and the only one of the race who ized a small fortune, and was looked up to by all, seemed to know what it was to smile. The risias one of the great men of the town which rapidlybility of the whole family appeared centered in

her. She was always full of merriment. Her mouth was puckered up, as if to retain her gaiete de cœur, and at the first humorous speech or ludicrous incident, she burst out with laughter. The grave deacon was constantly restraining her mirth, but the words" Mahitable, my dear! don't be so noisy, child!" had been ejaculated eighteen years in vain: she was the same light-hearted, boisterous girl as ever. After tea the deacon pronounced a long and elaborate grace, and soon after, Edward took his departure.

can I deceive her? no, no! I must fly from her ere it be too late. I must return to my usual haunts, and continue on my wretched career alone." The service ended, and all left the meeting house to employ the intervening half hour in strolling or eating. Edward remained behind, in his scat, plunged in gloomy reflexions. From these he was soon aroused by Mahitable, who came to say her mother was quite unwell, and they were going home with her in their wagon, but that the Chapman family would take him home.

"No, no," he answered, "I cannot stay-indeed I can't! Take me with you."

In this place young Graham remained many weeks. His business was all arranged to his satisfaction, yet still he lingered. To him, who had "Why, what on 'arth's the matter?" said Mabeen a rover in all quarters of the world, and lived hitable; “why must you go? Oh, now I see; I in the artificial circles of cities, there was a charm guess you are afraid of getting no dinner; but in the quiet manners and simple habits of the in- Mrs. Chapman has brought a great pot-pie, and lots habitants of these green valleys, which brought a of gingerbread, and told me to send you to eat with soothing peace to his heart, to which it had long them. Poor thing! it's no wonder you are so set been a stranger; and he deferred his departure on going, when you are so hungry." Mahitable, from day to day, dreading more and more to return laughing heartily, dragged him to the door, and in to his former home and associates. But would spite of his remonstrances, and her father's solemn Edward search to the bottom of his heart, there" Mahitable! my dear!" she succeeded in leading was another reason for his protracted stay-one him to the great tree under which the Chapmans which he dared not confess to himself. The lovely were taking their luncheon. and gentle Elizabeth had woven a chain around him which he found it now difficult to break. In all their little excursions he was sure to be with her, and the pleasure she found in his society was one charm which bound him to her. Edward was so superior, she thought, to all around her-and then, he drove her out in such a pretty gig, and talked so amusingly of the gaieties and wonders of the southern cities, that poor Elizabeth soon found herself wishing fortune had cast her lot in such happy places, and given her such a companion.

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Well, it's my fate, I see," thought Graham; and with this salvo to his conscience, he soon found himself strolling among the grave stones, with Elizabeth on his arm. What an interesting sight it is," he observed, "to see so many pious worshippers sitting together under the trees, enjoying their frugal meal. It reminds me of a party of pilgrims, who have come from afar, to visit the shrine of some favorite saint."

"There is a great difference," said Elizabeth, "between our plain meeting house, with its pine pulpit and seats, and those splendid temples we

One morning, Edward asked Mahitable if she would go out with him, and take tea at Mrs. Chap-read of. And the dresses also-what contrast beman's. Mahitable smoothed her jolly face down to a solemn length, and said—" You surely forget, this is Saturday."

tween the loose flowing robes of the pilgrims and the homespun coats of our people. The dissimilarity of the two faiths is as great. The one, all simplicity and purity-the other, gorgeous magni

"Oh true-I did not remember your Sunday begins on Saturday evening; but will you go to-mor-ficence. row?"

"Oh, willingly, as Lizzy has just sent for us all, and for you. She expects a little party."

The next morning, Edward accepted a seat in the deacon's wagon, and they drove to church. When there, he looked anxiously around for the Chapmans' wagon, and soon espied it, with its empty row of rush-bottomed chairs, fastened, with many others, under a large tree. He entered the meeting house, and was soon in his favorite seat, where he might have a view of the choiristers, among whom Elizabeth always sat. After the prayer, singing commenced; Elizabeth stood up with the others, but accidentally encountering the admiring gaze of Graham, the blood rushed over her fair face-her voice faltered-and after vainly endeavoring to rally, she sat down in confusion, and the singing went on without her.

"What can this agitation mean?" said Edward, mentally. "I have often observed it lately. Can I have obtained an interest in the heart of this sweet girl? Oh! if it might be possible, then indeed I could hope for happiness. But no!-her parents would never consent to give her to an actor-one who belongs, as they say, to the devil's house. And

The one, worshipping God alone-the other bending the knee to man.'

Edward smiled at the little puritan, as he called her, but the bell now summoned them all to the meeting, where a short and simple service closed the devotions of the day. Chairs, wagons and horses now received their burdens, and every one took his way to his rural home. When they arrived at the deacon's house, Edward found Mahitable expecting him; and leaving Mr. Chapman's wagon, he assisted her and her sister into her father's old rattling chaise, and followed after as their driver. When they arrived, the house presented quite an animated appearance. Young people were strolling about, or swinging under the apple trees, while on the porch sat the old ladies, knitting; for the sun was down and the Sabbath ended. On the steps, or under the trees, were groups of elders, "whose talk was of ploughs and oxen," and whose thoughts were divided between the sermon they had heard, and the waving fields of grain over which their eyes wandered. Elizabeth never looked so lovely to Edward as on this evening. Her dress was simple white, and a few wild scarlet columbines were tastefully placed in her hair. Never did poor Edward feel himself so

this engagement. Had I known it, I would have acted differently, but now, let those be to blame who saw me approach the danger, without one friendly warning.”

much in love, and he determined to do his best to win her. They were all summoned to tea, and were agreeably surprised, to find a long table arranged on a smooth grassy spot, behind the house. The table was spread with the abundance As Edward rapidly uttered this, Mahitable sat of a wealthy Vermont farmer-tea and coffee, gazing on him, in silent amazement. She had cakes, pies, piles of smoking indian corn, baked-seen that Edward admired Elizabeth, but this was pears, stemed cheries, etc. etc. During tea, the very natural, and supposing he knew of her endeacon observed, "I never see our young folks gagement to Theodore, she did not imagine he assemble together, without regretting the absence cherished warmer feelings. Nay, when the simple of Theodore Howard. Does any one know when creature saw them so often together in earnest he is expected? No one knew. Leonidas Bennet conversation, she thought it probable that Elizabeth leaned behind Edward, and whispered to Mahitable, was making her new friend, a confidant of her "ask Elizabeth, I calculate she knows." attachment." Well, I'm proper sorry," she said"No, no," said Mahitable," she will not like it."" It is hard, if you love her, to have her marry The deacon, however, was not so considerate, another." his mouth was drawn aside with a demure smile, and looking across to Elizabeth he said, "There is one here, who could tell, I am sure, Lizzy can inform us if she chooses." Elizabeth's neck and face were flushed with crimson, but raising her eyes, she caught Edward's eager inquiring glance, the blood rushed back again to her heart and left her deadly pale. Nods and winks went round the table, and all seemed full of merry fancies except Edward.

"Who was Theodore? what relation did he stand in to Elizabeth?" He had before observed her agitated when his name was mentioned, and now he sat silent and miserable and doubting. After tea, he in vain endeavored to engage the attention of Elizabeth. She was grave, nay sad, and evidently avoided him. When Mahitable proposed to depart, Edward joyfully agreed, as he was anxious to have the doubts which troubled him cleared away, and as soon as they were seated in the chaise he asked Mahitable who "Theodore Howard was ?"

"He is the son of the widow Howard, who lives in that small red house at the foot of the hill." "Well, but where is he-what kind of a young man was he-tell me all about him."

"Mercy to me! how your tongue runs, I declare it goes like a saw-mill. Theodore has been at Harvard college many years, but has now gone to the South where he has been offered a professorship in a college, but I think he is to be home in the fall, to be married."

"Marry another!-I assure you I have no such intentions, I mean to have an explanation to-morrow, and if that sweet girl loves me as I think she does, she shall be mine, in spite of Theodore."

"For gracious sake! you will not think of making mischief-You do not know how Theodore loves her, I am sure it would break his heart to lose her-I should be sorry to have any harm come to him, he is so good and kind and gentle—he is as likely a young man as ever you saw-they think all the world of him at college, and then he is the pet of all the village. Elizabeth must love himShe cannot change her mind so soon. Ah! Mr. Graham, if you could read his poetry you would love him yourself, and never dream of such cruelty as to try to get her heart from him. He would just slink away under some green tree, and lay his head down and die." Tears rolled down Mahitable's cheeks.

Edward did not answer her, but maintained during the remainder of the ride a gloomy silence. Sometimes as the idea of the gentle loving Theodore rose before him, he determined to leave Bat once, aye, although it would break his heartstrings-but the image of Elizabeth in all her grace and sweetness came before him, and with it, came the conviction that her heart was his alone, and all his honorable resolves were effaced.

The next afternoon Elizabeth brought her sewing and made Mahitable a friendly visit. Edward espied her, from his window, and was soon over there, her coldness had worn away, but there was a

"To whom is he to be married," said Edward sadness, a subdued tenderness in her bright grey almost gasping for breath."

"Dear me how you drive—you'll be off the bridge in the creek if you do not mind.”—

"He'll be married to Elizabeth Chapman to be sure."

The start Edward made almost drew the horse on his haunches. "To Elizabeth," he said in a low

hoarse tone.

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Why la! yes. They have been engaged these four years, did'nt you know it."

eyes, which convinced Edward he had nothing to fear. That evening, he walked home with her, and by the light of the lover's moon, told her all his love, and all his sorrow.

Elizabeth drew her hand from his, covered her face and burst into tears. "Oh! you must not talk thus to me," she said, "I cannot hear youfor-for, I am engaged to another."

"I have heard," said Edward, "something of a childish engagement, many years ago; but dearest "Know it-how should I. No one ever did me Elizabeth, the heart must go with the hand, and the kindness to tell me."

"You must have seen my deep devotion to her, then why did you not act the friend's part ere it was too late. And she too-ha!" he exclaimed giving the horse a cut which sent the old chaise skipping over the ruts. "She knew I loved her, and she never told me. It is plain, she loves me, and Theodore is forgotten. Then what to me is

you will not have the cruelty to tell me you love this absent Theodore more than me." She raised her eyes, and as Edward gazed into their soft depths, he saw that Theodore's hope had gone."

She turned away and clasped her hands, "Oh! I dare not-may not love you, for now I am pledged to him and must not break my vow."

"But would you deceive him dearest. Think

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