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A Bachelor’s Diary
He Is Mistaken for a Kidnapper
By MAX.
IN THE HAUNTED CASTLE
SUDDENLY BOTH HEARD
THE SOUND OF MUFFLED
FOOTSTEPS. AS IF SOME
ONE WERE RUNNING ON
HEAVY CARPET. AND THEY
KNEW THERE WAS NO CAR.
PET IN ALL THE VAST
STONE HALLS. BEFORE
The Most Exciting Serial
of the Year.
SERIALIZED
By J. W. McCONAUGHY
(Copyright, 1913, by Star Co.)
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.:
Moaning feebly, Rusty shook his gray
head
“I’se so soalrt 1 don’ remember noth
in'."
“They’re nothing but suits of armor.
Stay on your pins and don't bump into
me again. The next one of those rear-
end collisions and I'm liable to let some
moonlight into you. You’ve been tread
ing on my heels every step I take und
when I stop you bump into me."
"I’m powerful scalrt 1 might lose
you "
"A fine chance!” snorted his master.
He swung the lantern about and peered
into the corners of the apartment.
("Well, Rusty," be went on in his nat
ural voice. we've been through i lUs
old castle pretty thoroughly now from
dungeon to tower, and not a sign of
Duke or Prince or anyone else unless
they pound or carr> a smoky lantern.
It’s a clew. Rusty, it's a dew We’ll
stick right here till we find out where
it leads I'll swear the Duke never went
to Madrid, but came right here from the
inn Get away from me. 1 tell you!"
A Little Cheer.
He struck a match and resumed his
examination of the fireplace, holding the
light well inside.
“There’s a line chance for u fire The
chimney 's clear. Now then, but up that
little table and start a fire. You won’t
feel half so stared when you've got a
good blaze behind you.”
By virtue of his great weight Rusty
reduced the old table to firewood by
the simple process of sitting on it As
he was building the tire, Jarvis suggest
ed that he would scout around a bit.
"Don’t you do no scoutin' outside of
this here room!” ordered the old darky,
straightening up. Jarvis laughed and
told him to g on with the lire He
sat down on the stone floor and began
removing his shoe with many groans
“Now. what's the matter? What's
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THEY COULD ATTEMPT TO
LOCATE THE SOUND THERE
CAME TWO THUDS, ONE
LIGHT AND ONE HEAVY, AS
IF OF A BLOW AND A FALL,
AND THEN A LOW HEART
CHILLING MOAN THAT
SEEMED TO COME NOT
wrong with your shoe?"
* ’Taln’t my shoe- it s my foot,”
grunted Rusty. “You know, when I was
holdln’ the bosses an' waitin’ an’ wait
in' fer you to come out dem guns went
ff ami all dem hosses jumped right on
me!”
“There were only two horses. Rusty,”
smiled the young man.
I was countin' dey feet," grumbled
the servant, as he bent over the lire
once more. He had sufficiently recov
ered from his fright to be disgruntled
and make pertinent addenda to his
master's comments on the lay of the
land.
“This way leads to the main gate.”
remarked Jarvis, thoughtfully, peering
through the other door.
“That’s where dat black thing fol
lowed me.” grumbled Rusty. He ap
peared to locate every Inch of the cas
tle through its connection with some
personal disaster.
The Death Trap.
“Well, there's been a black thing
following me." retorted Jarvis, “tread
ing on my heels every step I've taken.
Hin! And that door goes to the ar
mory.
“That’s where 1 fell down dem slip
pery stairs.”
Suddenly Jarvis stopped and stared
intently into a far corner beyond the
fireplace. There was a small door
partly opened, as though some one had
pulled it hastily behind him as he
darted through.
“That's it!" he exclaimed, triumph
antly. darting forward. "Where can
that lead
His foot went down suddenly through
the floor. He hurled himself forward
and the floor seemed to rise and strike
him violently in the chest. The next
Instant he rolled to one side and was
on his feet.
“My God!’’ he muttered brokenly, the
cold sweat bathing his face. “My God!
That was a close one!"
"I.ordy, Mnrsc Warren wha’ dat?”
cried Rusty, starting to bis feet War
ren’s lantern had been dashed against
the wall and he stood in the uncertain
firelight.
“Get hack!” he ordered sharply.
Light that other lantern."
Rusty cautiously approached with the
lighted lantern. Warren took It In his
left hand and held out his right.
“Take a good grip, Rusty. Can you
hold me?”
“Yes. sah'" Rusty crouched back and
set himself.
Jarvis cautiously stepped out with
his left foot. A four-foot strip of the
floor sank under the light weight ami
the other end of the trap, the end
nearest the wall, rose. If he had been
walking at an ordinary gait nothing
could have saved him. The speed of
his rush and his remarkable agility car
ried forward far enough for the weight
T his upper body to strike the rising
end of the trap and thus shut it again
“God! I thought so!" he murmured
as he stepped back after a timid peep
into the black pit below. He wiped
is face and his hand trembled slightly
for the first time that night “Water
and a long drop! No wonder people
j disappear in this castle. Good Ix>rd!
! What if her brother went down there!
'tusty! Whatever happens, keep clear
..f this If you step on this you’ll
never see Kentucky again for sure"'
Rusty opened his ample lips, hut be
fore he could speak a groan came from
I b< yond the wall they were facing It
j sounded nearer and more human than
I ever. But it trailed off into a sound
FROM ONE OF ALL THE
HALLS. BUT ALL OF THEM.
THIS WAS IMMEDIATELY
ANSWERED BY A MOAN
THAT CAME UNMISTAKABLY
FROM RUSTY.
“I WANNA GO HOME! I
WANNA GO HOME!"
like the winds among the empty
echoing towers.
“It certainly sounded like a groan,”
muttered Jarvis, tip toeing cautiously
around the trap toward the little door
“Shut up. Rusty!”
The faithful but terrified servitor was
giving vent to sounds more dreadful
than those that issued from the walls.
“Mars© Warren! look out!” he
begged.
The Portrait.
“Listen!’’ He stood for a few mo
ments in silence, peering in at a little
Might of stone steps that led up through
the wall. Then he turned back to the
fireplace.
“1 guess it’s the wind. This place Is
getting on our nerves."
“This warn t no wind. Marse War-
I roll.” protested Rusty, solemnly. "Ah
! hope to die if dat warn’t a sure-nuff
j groan. An' ah wants to tell you some
thin' else ' He turned arid stared ac
cusingly at a large portrait of some
grandee of Charles Y.'s time which
hung beside the. broad steps that mount
ed to the corridor of the armory. “Hah
1 you ever been in church or somewhere
! an' all of a sudden a feelin' come over
1 you that there was eyes starin’ at the
back o' your haid? You just knowed
it?—until you couldn’ stan' It no longer
and just had to turn 'round and see who
’t was?”
“Why yes. Rusty,” agreed Jarvis
wonderingly “I've had that happen.
Why?”
"That’s just the way' I feel now—like
they was eyes lookin' at me. You see
dat picture? Seems like dat feller was
lookin’ at me like he’d step right out
o' de frame; or dem two battleship
boogies” he pointed to the knights be
side the staircase—"jump right down
here!”
"It’s been a good many hundred years
since those boys jumped. Rusty," smiled
his master Sh-h' Listen!" There was
the sound of swift footsteps again. Jar
vis softly cocked his pistol. ''Somebody
running coming this way."
Again it ended In the two thuds, like
a blow and fall. And all was still. Jar
vis swore.
"1 wanna go home," moaned the
darky.
His master set his teeth "What do
you know about that?” He had walked
swiftly to the little door In the wall
ami was peering in.
"I don't know nothin’ about."
j "1 thought so!" exclaimed Jarvis and
1 lie whistle.I softly, as if in utter amaze
ment. Rusty s curiosity again overcame
i his terror and he drew near. Realties, it
was more comfortable in the shelter
of his master's .45.
I "What is.lt?” he asked
“Rusty, this man with the smoky
J lantern has been up thc^ stuirs!"
"You ain't a-goin* up"” protested the
I old darky.
"1 am not!" was the emphatic reply,
" cause the Duke or some of his men
are probably at the top of the stairs
with a long gun—and I'm no book hero.”
“Supposin' it am the Prince,” sug
gested Rusty, with awe
“Well, suppose It is the Prince He
might Mow my head off because be
doesn’t know what I came for. And
if its some one else they’ll blow my
head off because they do know."
Without warning the sound of the
running feei reached them again, but
now it seemed to come from every quar
ter of the surrounding area Jarvis,
with Rusty cowering at bis elbow, back
ed out into the center of the room, the
long blue barrel of bis revolver making
uick play in all directions.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
J ULY 1.—Our days are so mo
notonous that if I were to at
tempt to set down in detail
what happens, it would sound like a
chapter from Genesis: And Arpasha
begat Shelah, and Shelah begat Eber,
and Eber begat Joktan. and Joktan
begat Almodad, etc., etc., an endless
chain of begats.
For 1 would relate in the same
sing-song strain that a bath in the
lake followed getting up and break
fast follows the bath, and a nap fol
lows breakfast, and lunch follows the
nap, and a walk In the woods follows
the lunch, etc., etc., a monotony that
Is growing pleasing to me now that
I have learned to find thrills of ex
citement in Mrs. Allen’s daily report
at breakfast that she found a rat in
the trap. I do not recall a market
report in six months previous that
has excited me more.
Manette is growing brown and fat
and sturdy, and with no one near to
remind us that she has a delicate
stomach, all such trouble has passed
away, proving rny contention that w*
keep our physical ailments alive by
recognition of their existence. If
Richards could see us eating our pic
nic lunches off a log in the woods,
stopping occasionally to brush off an
Inquisitive ant or a ladybug that Is
lost from home, and regarding these
little creatures of another world as
friends, instead of germ - infested en
emies, she would steal the child from
me. and bring suit In the court charg
ing that I am not fit to be its guar
dian.
Her Future.
"I am convinced,” I said gravely to
Manette this afternoon, taking a
chicken sandwich from her hands,
for she always the hostess at our
picnics, "that a man-cared-for child
is healthier than one that is cared
for by a woman. She is neither
nagged nor pampered so much. Now,
if Richards were here she would
make you throw away that sand
wich because there ia an ant on it—
brush it off, my dear—and she would
worry you because there is a streak
of dirt on your cheek and a rip in
your dress. I don't. I junt let you
forget all those things and be happy.
I never want you, my baby, to be so
much of a woman that you can’t en
joy the Lord's big outdoors because
you have left your powder rag at
home. You must rise above yourself,
little one.”
She looked at me gravely with
thoee big blue eyes, and then, rob
bing her sandwich of the meat that
she might temporarily rid the brown -
eyed pup of the look of longing he
had fastened on her. said. “When 1
get big, I w'on’t be a woman at all.
I’ll just be your wife."
"How I wleh you were old enough."
I replied fervently.
That would be a glorious thing.
Diary. To take a child and train her
in the ways one desired, and then
marry her when she is grow'n.
"You will marry snriw nice young
man,” I argued, "and go away and
leave your Uncle Max. It is* the way
of nature, and I can’t keep you al
ways.”
I suppose I unconsciously sighed,
for in another moment she was on
my lap. rubbing a greasy sandwich
down the back of my neck, while she
protested between hugs and crumby
kisses that she never intended to
leave me. unless, and it gave me a
twinge to hear her say it, “Lisbeth
sent for her.”
I was holding her tight with one
hand, and with the other was trying
to make the brown-eyed pup leap
over our heads for a piece of chicken
when I heard the sound of approach
ing horses, and a girl’s merry laugh.
There was an abrupt turn in the
bridal path near us, and a minute
later they appeared in view, all un
conscious of three interested listen
ers. for the pup had also paused in
his play to cock wise-looking ears
their way.
“I don’t.” the girl was saying, "be
lieve in the kind of love you talk
about. It would make of woman a
sort of domestic chattel, like a cook-
stove or a table. The fundamental
principles of liberty—here her atten
tion was attracted to us by the pup’s
shrill bark—I think that term, "fun
damental principles," made him fear
a procession of women were coming
—and she stopped abruptly, staring at
us with eyes that were first aston
ished, and that changed to admiration
when she saw Manette.
An Admirer,
"What a beautiful child,” she said,
swinging lightly from her hor»e, and
coming across the grass toward us.
her horse following, with his nose
pressed lovingly against her shoulder.
"Whose is she," Impatiently, "and
what is she doing here in these wilds
alone with a man like you?"
My disguise was plainly perfect. I
hadn’t shaved in three weeks, and
wore that morning a suit of Allen’s
overalls, for we contemplated a Jaunt
across the lake in an improvised raft.
I laughed. I do not know- when I
was more amused.
"That," I replied, making no at
tempt to rise or remove my hat, “is
not the affair of every wayfarer on
the road.”
She colored angrily. “I intend to
make it my affair. Look at her shoes
with holes In the toes, and the
scratches on her poor little arms and
legs. You poor baby,” getting down
on her knees, “has that man been
abusing you?”
I do not think at first Manette com
prehended what the girl meant, and
when it dawned upon her, her indig
nation was fine to see.
“I am not a poor child,” she cried.
"I am a rich child; everyone says so.
Nurse says I’ll be worth millions some
day; and 1 don’t want them. I want
oniy my Uncle Max!”
I think there Hashed across her
brain a recollection of the woman
who kidnaped her, for in a frenzy
she threw her arms around my neck
and screamed: “Make her go ’way!
Make her go ’way! I’m afraid; I’m
afraid! ”
I was amused no longer, for the
child was plainly suffering. Rising
to my feet. I lifted my hat and said
very coldly:
“You are trespassing on private
property. Please ride on."
“We will go." she answered, angri
ly. “but this doesn’t end here. 1 will
find out who this Uncle Max Is the
child wants, and take steps to restore
her to her guardian. She plainly
doesn’t belong to a man like you.”
He Laughs.
Then, though Manette still whim
pered I threw back my head and
laughed till the woods rang with it.
1 had a vision of what my friends
and associates in the city would say
if they knew some pert young suf
fragette was preparing to have me ar
rested for a tramp and abductor of
small children. It even flashed across
my mind that if those men afflicted
with the kind of softening of the
brain that fits them for getting out
the Sunday papers knew' of it. they
would give it three pages, with pic
tures of all of us, including the pup
fend the sandwich Manette still held
in her grimy fingers. They might
even give a picture in magnified pro
portions of the ant that this little
baby-heiress to millions had brushed
off her bread.
I laughed s^ long that Manette
stopped whimpering, and lifting her
face from my shoulder said in tones
that breathed defiance, "Go ’w r ay,
please. 1 want my Uncle Max.”
The girl turned to her escort, who
had jumped from his horse when I
began to laugh, and said something
I did not catch. Evidently his reply-
restrained her from tearing the child
from my arms, for with a protesting
air she suffered herself to be helped
to her horse, and they rode away.
The last look I had of her was of
a fact* crimson w ith indignation and
anger. The last she had of me was
of a man doubled up with laughter.
"Manette,” I said gravely, taking
my r share of the lemon cake, "those
briar scratches you got on your arms
and legs yesterday are giving your
Uncle Max a bad name.”
Advice to the Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
LET YOUR MOTHER DECIDE.
- DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am in love with a young man
with whom I have been keeping
company for quite some time. We
have broken off friedship for a
while, and my mother strongly
objects to his return. 1 love him.
('an you tell me what is best to
do? H. V. E.
Mother always knows best, par
ticularly when the girl is very young,
which I am judging is your case.
If he is worthy of you he will wait.
Believe me, my dear, if he is the man
set aside to be your mate he w ill not
be easily discouraged.
THAT IS HIS PLACE.
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
Will you kindly enlighten me
as to whether It is proper to thank
the gentlemen after returning
form a show or a ball? BABY.
The good old-fashioned courtesy
makes all the pleasure his. He owes
you the delight he has had in your
company.
LET YOUR MOTHER KNOW.
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am sixteen and deeply in love
with a man two years my senior.
For six months he took me home
from school, and after 1 was grad
uated he expressed his love for
me. He has given me a ring.
The only thing that makes me
hesitate is that we are of a dif
ferent religion. ESTELLE.
Your mother should know of your
love affair at once. Not only because
of the dlifference in religion, but be
cause of your extreme youth.
DUTY, MY DEAR.
Dear Miss Fairfax:
1 have been engaged to a young
man two years. The man is 33
years old. We love each other
very much. Owing to our aged
mothers, we think it’s impossible
to get married, as he i>- the only
support of his mother and I am
the only child left at home to
take care of my mother, who is
85. Between love and duty, which
will we do? M. S.
Your mothers are so old that your
time of waiting will be very short.
I am sure if either of you failed in
your duty you would live to regret
It. Unless you can marry and take
your mothers with you, which is not
advisable, postpone your marriage till
you can enter it feeling that your
happiness is not purchased w-lth an
other’s woe.
LET THE MATTER END.
Dear Miss Fairfax;
I had the pleasure of meeting
a young man at a public dance.
He asked to sec me home and I
consented. He made an appoint
ment with me that we both kept.
When he left me he failed to set a
definite time for a next meeting,
saying he would try to visit a
place where I frequented. Now.
do you think that I should have
anything to do with him in the
form of writing, etc., or drop him,
as I am positive that he never
will visit this place?
ANXIOUS.
You are very sure he will not keep
any appointments he makes, so why
concern yourself about him? Let
the acquaintance drop before It is
more serious.
No Tunes Allowed.
Not long ago a certain brass band,
which shall be nameless, was engaged to
play at a local village feast. On the
way there the conducter suggested that
they should “have a tune." but the
driver of the wagonette at once ob
jected to the project.
"No toons while I drive," he remarked.
“But. why?" persisted the conductor.
“Surely the horses wouldn't run away?"
“No." said the driver, "they wouldn't."
"Then why object?"
"Simply hecos the poor beggars could
not run away If they tried." was the
grim retort “Their running away days
is over, an' so long as I drives you ain't
a-going to take no mean advantage of
'em That's w hy 1 sez no toons "
I The conductor subsided, and there
were “no toons" on that Journey.
Dine at a smart restaurant and forgot your table manners
(From London Punch.)
• •
• •
The Temper Curse B ?dqrothy dix.
T HE real problems of life are not
the big problems , nor are Its
tragedies the great sorrow's of
existence. The conundrums that no
body can an8W'er are offered by just
little everyday complications, and the
things that break our hearts, and
wreck homes, are not great sins, or
afflictions, but small, miserable, sor
did worries and aggravations that
blot out the sunshine and take all the
Joy out of life for us.
As an example of this I submit the
case of one of my correspondents.
She is a good, conscientious woman,
married to a good man, and they
have had a happy home. Recently,
however, the woman s mother has
died and she had to offer the shelter
of her home to a young sister, a
beautiful and talented girl of 20, who
has the temper of a virago.
The girl has nowhere e\se to go, for
although she is amply fitted by her
abilities to support herself, she can
keep no situation because of her un
controlled temper and tongue. To
have to support her is a burden on
her sister, but the worst feature of
it Is that the girl has made a peace
ful and happy home such a storm
center, that it is wrecking it. and the
woman's husband is very naturally
threatening to send the sister away.
Fears the Worst.
The poor wife and sister is between
two fires. She fears the worst for
her sister if the girl, young and beau
tiful and headstrong, is deprived of
all guardianship and restraint, and
even of shelter, and at the same time
she feels the injustice of sacrificing
her husband and her home to the
girl's tantrums, and she asks what
she had best do under the circum
stances.
I side with the husband. I think
that there is nothing else in the
world in which the most of us show
ourselves so cowardly as in the
craven, meachin' way in which we
give into people with tempers and
let them ride roughshod over us. Be
fore a redheaded temper and a ven
omous tongue we are all arrant cow
ards, and that is why the possessors
of tempers don’t try to control them.
Among my acquaintances there is
a certain child who holds the world's
championship for crying. She shrieks
and shrieks until she maddens every
body about her. Not long ago, catch
ing her for once in a smiling mood,
1 said, "Mabel, why do you cry so
much?” She looked at me in round-
eyed amazement and calmly replied,
"Why, if I didn’t cry, how would I
get anything I want?”
That is the philosophy of the indi
viduals with high tempers. They
know that the balance of us are so
terrified at the thought of their rag
ing that we will give into them with
out an argument; that we will walk
on eggs to try to keep from ruffling
their sensibilities, and that we will
put up with any injustice or imposi
tion rather than jo through a scene
with them.
So They Rage.
Therefore they rage. It’s the easi
est way to get what they want, for
the person without a temper is no
more fitted to cope with the individual
with a temper than an infant in arms
is to engage in a prize fight with Jack
Johnson.
Every one of us knows some great,
big. strong, splendid man who is so
afraid of his wife’s temper that he
lies to her about having to see some
man downtown if he wants to stay
out a few minutes longer than the
curfew she rings on him. and who
doesn't dare to even treat an old
woman friend with common civility
if he meets her when wife is along.
All of us know women who live :n
such terror of their husband's temper
that they tremble at the very sound
of his keys in the front door, and who
spend their lives in falsifying house
hold accounts, and trying to conceal
everything that happens in the house
hold that could possibly vex their
violent spouses.
Ordinarily these men and womm
are not cowards. They have the cour
age to lead a charge in battle, or face
death without a tremor. They even
have the moral coinage to endure
their hell-on-earth of being married
to a high tempered wife or husband,
yet before that temper they
abject worms of the dust, without a
fight in them.
So far as 1 know, no psychologist
has ever attempted to explain the fear
we have of the tempers of those with
whom we must live. Perhaps the
struggle for existence takes so much
out of us that we have no strength
left with which to wage a perpetual
battle at home. Perhaps we have a
sense of decency that the high tem
pered lack which keeps us from
retaliating in kind. Perhaps no real
lady or gentleman is fitted to deal
w-ith the woman or man who has not
the finer instincts that consideration
for other people and self-mastery
give.
At any rate the fact remains that
we all do stand in such shaking,
quivering fear of the high tempered
that we encourage them in giving
full reign to their evil dispositions.
This makes us to a degree accessory
before the crime. We need more grit
and backbone in dealing w’ith them,
and it's dollars to doughnouts that if
the evil tempered knew' that they
would be chucked out of house and
home unless they controlled them
selves they would curb their passions.
Temper should be made the first
cause for divorce.
If every woman was perfectly
aware that sh e would have to be
gentle and amiable in order to hold
down her job, and have a husband
to pay her bills for her instead of
having to hustle to support herself,
there would be no more shrewish
women, nor men who had heart fail
ure every time they thought of w'hat
their wives would say to them when
they got home.
If every man knew' that he would
have to answer to a divorce summons
and pay alimony if he didn’t make
himself pleasant and agreeable at
home, we should have no more do
mestic bullies and tyrants who talk
to their wives as they w'ould not dare
speak to any husky man W'ho could
knock them down.
And if all of our sisters, and our
cousins, and our aunts, and our
mothers-in-law, who come and live
on us, and who keep us dodging their
ways, and trying to keep from pre
cipitating an avalanche of fury and
abuse on our hearthstones, were per
fectly sure that they would either
have to be good-natured or get out,
we should see such a sweetening up
of dispositions as the world has nev
er known.
For the person with the temper is
never anything but a selfish bully.
We could call his, or her bluff, if we
had 4he nerve to do it.
Just Sampling It.
For a long time the pale-faced man
regarded the sandwich on the counter
before him suspiciously. At length he
carefully lifted off the top slice of bread,
took out a piece of ham, ate 41, and re
placed as before. In a few seconds
he again removed the top piece, ex
tracted another piece of meat this time,
and replaced the top again; and again
the performance was repeated until the
ham had gone. A bystander tapped him
on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” said the inquisitive
one, “hut why don’t you eat up your
sandwich, instead of picking at it in
that fashion?”
“Well, you see,” w'hlspered back the
other, glaring around suspiciously. “1
can not very w'ell eat it. It isn’t my
sandwich.”
COMES OUT
A RIBBON LIES
FLAT ON THE BRUSH
Good teeth
Good health
with
COLGATE'S
t ~”- RIBBON
DENTAL CREAM
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Efficient
KODAKS
Historic College
For Women
Wesleyan
MACON, GEORGIA
Delightful climate. Thorough and extensive
course of study. Music, Art and Oratory of
the highest order. Illustrious body of alum
nae, choice student body, ideal home life, stu
dent government, excellent faculty, splendid
boarding department and good athletics. The
oldest and one of the choicest great colleges
for women in the world. Address. Dept. M.
C. R. JENKINS,
Macon Georgia
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