Murder Under a Western Moon (Mona Moon Mystery Book) a 1930's Historical Cozy Mystery by Abigail Keam ➱ Book Sale with Guest Post & Giveaway
Mona Moon is the American Phryne Fisher!
Murder Under a Western Moon
A Mona Moon Mystery Book 11
by Abigail Keam
Genre: 1930's Historical Cozy Mystery
Mona
Moon is the American Phyrne Fisher!
FIVE STARS! "Whew,
what an incredible 'couldn't put down' experience!" -Kings River
Life Magazine
FIVE
STARS! "Murder
Under a Western Moon is
a great foray into historical mysteries and serves as another
charming, humorous, and well-written installment of the series."
-Readers' Favorite
Mona
Moon and her new husband, Robert Farley, Duke of Brynelleth are about
to board an ocean liner to Merry Old England for their honeymoon when
Mona receives an urgent telegram from Rupert Hunt, her eyes and ears
in the Moon copper mines.
POTENTIAL RIOT AT MONTANA
MINE STOP DEAD
MINER STOP POSSIBLE
MURDER STOP COME
AT ONCE STOP RUPERT
HUNT
Since the copper mines are the financial backbone of Moon
Enterprises, Mona has no choice but to drop her plans and travel to
Montana on the next train. She and Robert descend into a world of
seething resentments, bitter accusations against Moon Enterprises,
and bad decisions that pose a threat to Mona's world. She travels
incognito to search out the truth of Rupert's allegations against the
mining management. She must decide if Rupert is trying to prevent an
innocent man from being hung for murder or if he is part of a
grandiose plot against her. After all, Mona had been kidnapped by
Rupert while searching for the Swift silver mine a year ago. Rupert
is a scoundrel, but Mona hired him to be her scoundrel.
Is this another of Rupert's games? Regardless of the threat, Mona
must get to the bottom of it. Thank goodness Robert is by her side .
. . or could Robert have his own agenda?
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Murder Under a Blue Moon
A Mona Moon Mystery Book 1
Top
10 mystery reads by Kings River Life Magazine!
Mona
Moon is not your typical young lady. She is a cartographer by trade,
explorer by nature, and adventurer by heart. But there’s a problem.
Miss Mona is broke. It’s during the Depression, and National
Geographic has just turned down her application to join an expedition
to the Amazon. What’s she to do? Perhaps get a job as a department
store salesgirl. Anything to tide her over until a next
assignment.
There’s a knock on the door. Who could this be
in the middle of the night? Holding a revolver, Mona reluctantly
opens her door to a man wearing a Homburg hat and holding a
briefcase. “I bring glad tidings. Your Uncle Manfred Moon has died
and left you as his heir to the Moon fortune. You are now one of the
richest women in the country!” he says. Mona’s response is to
point her revolver in his face. If the stranger is telling the truth,
she will apologize. If he is a fraud, she will shoot him. That’s
how Mona does things in 1933.
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1
Mona Moon and her new husband, Robert Farley, were halfway
up the passenger ship’s ramp that would whisk them away to Great Britain where
they would spend their honeymoon at the Duchy of Brynelleth, Robert’s ancestral
home, when a messenger frantically flagged them down. “Miss Maplewood! Miss Maplewood! I’ve got an urgent telegram for you.”
Robert touched Mona’s elbow as if to guide her forward. “Leave it, Mona. It’s nothing more than a congratulatory
telegram on our marriage.”
“Only Violet knew which ship we were taking to Great Britain
and our assumed names. I must read
it. It might be important.”
“Anybody could have tracked us down. Let’s get on board first.”
“Wait, Lord Bob,” Mona replied, using her nickname for
Robert, who was Duke of Brynelleth. She
made her way down the ramp. “Excuse
me. Pardon me. So sorry,” she said, after bumping into
passengers on the ramp going in the opposite direction.
Exasperated, Robert followed. “Mona, we have spent the last five days
fending off newspaper men by sneaking to New York. Now I want some alone time with you so I can
do things that no one mentions in polite society.”
“Well, how rude,” gasped one matron passing by.
“So sorry, Madame,” apologized a red-faced Robert, tipping
the brim of his hat. He ran after
Mona. “See what you made me do?”
“I never told you to loudly broadcast our personal lives to
the public. I think that esteemed lady
might need smelling salts,” Mona said, grinning and looking over her shoulder
at Robert. She finally reached the dock
and yelled while waving her arm, “Here, boy.
Here.”
“Miss Maplewood?”
Maplewood was the assumed name the Farleys were traveling under.
“The one and only.”
She tipped the courier fifty cents.
After he didn’t leave but looked expectantly at her, Mona
said, “You may go now.”
“I’m sorry, Miss, but the telegram requires an answer. I’m not supposed to leave without it.”
“It’s Mrs.,” Mona replied absentmindedly as she tore open
the telegram and read.
POTENTIAL RIOT AT MONTANA MINE STOP DEAD
MINER STOP POSSIBLE MURDER STOP
COME AT ONCE STOP RUPERT HUNT
“What is it, darling?” Robert asked, noticing Mona’s face
drain of color.
Mona handed Robert the telegram.
“That’s not cricket,” Robert said after reading it. “What do you want to do?”
Mona asked the telegram messenger, “Do you have a pencil,
young man?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The lad
handed Mona the pencil tucked in his cap.
Mona scribbled a line on the pad the boy handed to her. “Send this off immediately and tell no one
about my reply. Understand?” She gave him a dollar.
He gazed at the silver dollar in surprise. “Thank you, ma’am. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Get along with you and send that off as soon as you get
back to the office.”
“To whom do you want this message sent, ma’am?”
“To the sender of this telegram. Hurry and don’t lollygag.”
The boy tipped his cap and ran off.
“Oh, dear. I forgot
to give back his pencil,” Mona muttered, realizing it was too late to call
him. She didn’t want to attract
attention and tucked the small pencil in her purse. She turned to face Robert, trying to act
nonchalant. “Have the reporters recognized us yet?”
Robert looked about casually, glancing at the knot of
reporters and photographers reporting on people of note embarking on the ship
to Europe. Well-known passengers were
reported in the society columns of the newspapers. “Not yet, but if we linger any longer, they
will. The black wig you have on helps,
but we need to leave before we are spotted.
I see one eyeing us now.”
A photographer, chattering to a few of his colleagues, kept
glancing at Robert and Mona.
Robert turned away as did Mona. “What do you want to do, my love?”
“Robert, I’ve got to go to Montana. That’s our biggest copper mine. Whatever trouble
is brewing there, I’ve got to put an end to it.
Too much is at stake.”
Taking a deep dissatisfied breath, Robert hailed a porter
and gave him their luggage claim tickets.
“Bring them off the boat and onto the dock. I think they are in our stateroom. Please hurry.” Robert handed the porter two dollars. “I’ll give you three more if you can bring
our trunks down in six minutes.”
The porter gawked at the two dollars. “Three more dollars?”
Robert nodded.
The porter rushed up the gangplank, pushing passengers out
of his way. The usual tip was
twenty-five cents.
Hiding his great disappointment that their honeymoon was
interrupted, Robert wrapped his arm around Mona, knowing she was let down as
well. “It will be all right,
darling. We have our entire lives to
enjoy our honeymoon.”
Mona pressed her hand on Robert’s arm. “Oh, Robert.
I’m so sorry. Our trip is
ruined.”
The porter rushed down the ramp with their trunks just as
Robert kissed Mona’s hair, causing the wig to shift a bit, exposing her
platinum hair.
An alert newspaper reporter, seeing the platinum hair,
yelled. “Hey, guys, it’s Mona Moon and the Duke of Brynelleth, her new
husband!” The group turned and eyed them
suspiciously.
Robert grabbed a fist full of dollar coins from his pants
pocket and handed them to the porter. “Our
plans have changed. Put these trunks in
storage. I’ll have someone call for
them. You will be contacted. What’s your name friend?”
“Bill Moses.”
Seeing the contingent of reporters now rushing toward them,
Robert began pushing Mona along the wharf and toward the cab stand. “Sorry, darling, but we’ve got to run. No time to wait.”
Both Mona and Robert jumped into a cab before anyone could
snap a photograph of them. The cabbie
merged into a line of cars and was soon lost in the hustle and bustle of New
York traffic.
Looking out the back window to see if they were being
followed, Mona ordered, “Take us to Penn Station, please.”
The cabbie nodded and sped toward the railroad station.
Mona leaned into Robert and wrapped her coat closer around
her. “Montana, ready or not. Here we come!”
Chapter 1
Mona
Moon picked up her dusty knapsack and battered valise, making her way down the
ship’s ramp where the dock bristled with baggage porters, dock workers,
cabbies, newspaper reporters, police, hustlers, and families welcoming loved-ones
home with flowers and kisses. There were no kisses and flowers for
Mona. No loved-ones, tiptoeing and stretching their necks on the
dock, searched for her. Mona was alone.
She
hurried through customs, anxious to be off before all the cabs were snatched
up. It was after midnight, and the last thing Mona wanted was to be
stranded on a lonely pier.
Luckily,
Mona was able to hail a taxi and gave her address. “Chinatown,” she muttered,
sick with exhaustion. She had spent five months in Mesopotamia mapping the
river systems emanating from the Zagros Mountains. Worn and thin
from months of privation, Mona was ready for a hot bath, a clean bed, and a hot
meal. Any kind of food would suffice. Then she wanted to
hibernate in a deep sleep for several days.
It
had been an arduous expedition fraught with danger. It was good that Mona
always kept her pistol handy. It had saved her on many occasions,
too many for her taste.
The
cab screeched to a halt at Mona’s address, and sleepy driver let her
out. He didn’t bother to help her with the luggage as he disapproved of
women wearing trousers instead of dresses.
Mona
showed her disapproval of the cabby’s distain by withholding a tip. She briskly
strode through building’s door and was out of earshot as the driver sneered,
“This ain’t no jitney, lady . . . oh, excuse me, you must be a sir, but who
could tell?”
She
climbed some rickety stairs leading to her little one-room apartment, and
unlocking the door, stumbled into her tiny efficiency, sighing with
relief. Her room was as she left it with the exception of a stack of
mail on a table, which acted as both desk and dining area, accompanied by one
chair, one bookcase, and one single bed neatly made.
Mr.
Zhang had come through for her, collecting her mail and dutifully saving it,
even though she owed him back rent.
Mona
set her luggage by the door and dove into the letters. She was expecting a
letter from the National Geographic Society, inviting her on their Amazon expedition
accompanied by a fat check.
She
quickly perused the stack of letters, mostly bills, until she found one with
the return address of the National Geographic Society. Tearing the
envelope open quickly, Mona read:
Dear Miss Moon,
Thank
you for application to join the Amazon expedition, which the National
Geographic Society is funding some months from now. Even though your
credentials and experience are quite impressive, we feel the Amazon expedition
is not suitable for a woman, even for one as yourself with such superior
attributes.
Please
feel free to apply for another expedition where the day-to-day exertions would
be less taxing for one of the fairer sex.
Best Regards,
Winston Banks
Mona
let the letter fall to the floor. She was in deep trouble. Without
the income from the Amazon expedition, Mona was in a financial
crisis. She had three hundred dollars in her pocket out of which she
had to pay back rent, buy food, and support herself until the next assignment
materialized. Even though three hundred dollars was a princely sum during the
Depression, it would not last long unless she could obtain another source of
income between gigs in her field. Tomorrow, she would start looking in the
paper for a job. Even a shopgirl’s position sounded good at the
moment. Times were hard, and one had to do what one had to do to
survive.
A
sharp knock on the door broke Mona’s train of thought. Startled, she
glanced at her wristwatch. It was close to two in the
morning. She grabbed the revolver from her purse. “Who is
it?”
A
man’s voice filtered through the flimsy wood door. “Am I speaking to
Madeline Mona Moon?”
“Who
wants to know?”
My
name is Dexter Turner. I’m a lawyer from Turner, Combs, and Sharp. I represent your
Uncle Manfred Michael Moon’s estate.”
Throwing
open the door, Mona pointed the revolver squarely at the man’s
forehead. “What do you want, Mr. Turner from Turner, Combs, and Sharp?”
Mr.
Turner’s eyes grew large as saucers, but he tried to quiet the quiver in his
voice. He was a respectable man and was not used to having women point guns at
him. “I have important business to discuss with you.”
“At
two in the morning?”
“I
am sorry but I have waited a week for you to come home from your journey, and
I’m afraid time is of the essence. I was at the dock earlier and called out
your name. Did you not hear?”
“Oh,
was that you? I thought it might be a bill collector.”
“Miss
Moon, may I come in? I don’t think we should be discussing our
business in a public hallway.”
“Drop
the briefcase, turn around, and put your hands up against the wall.”
Mr.
Turner protested, “This is outrageous!”
Flicking
the revolver at him, Mona ordered, “Do it, Bub, or else.”
Seeing
he had no choice, Mr. Turner put down his briefcase, turned, and put his hands
high above his head against the wall.
Mona
expertly patted down Mr. Turner’s navy pinstriped double-breasted suit, paying
special attention to any pockets and even ran her hand up the inseam of his
trousers, eliciting a high-pitched whimper from the prim attorney. She took out
his wallet and went through it, finding five hundred dollars in small bills, a
driver’s license, and a worn snapshot of a woman with two children, supposedly
his family, plus New York restaurant receipts and a railroad ticket stub.
Finding no weapons, she went through his leather case.
Mr.
Turner started to turn, but Mona barked, “Stay as you are.”
Seeing
nothing suspicious, Mona put the gun in her pant’s pocket. “Okay, you can come
in. I’m sorry, Mr. Turner, but a lady can’t be too careful when a stranger
knocks on her door in the middle of the night. Understand?”
Mr.
Turner stumbled inside and eased onto the apartment’s one chair. “May I have a
glass of water? I’m not used to this kind of treatment, especially
when I bring glad tidings.”
Curious,
Mona was silent as she let the washbasin faucet run until the rusty-looking
water turned clean before she filled a chipped glass and handed it to Mr.
Turner.
He
looked askance at the glass, but took several sips. “That’s better.
Just give me a moment to compose myself.” The lawyer took several
deep breaths.
Mona
sat quietly on her bed, watching Mr. Turner and wondering what his business had
to do with her. He had stated he was bringing glad
tidings. She could use some good news, and patiently waited for Mr.
Turner to speak.
Mr.
Turner wiped his forehead with his linen monogrammed handkerchief before
opening his briefcase and laying papers on the table. Clearing his
throat, Mr. Turner straightened the knot in his tie and spoke in a loud firm
voice, “Miss Moon, I’m here to inform you that your uncle, Manfred Michael Moon
died two weeks ago. In accordance with his wishes and Last Will and Testament,
Mr. Moon has bequeathed to you his property, all real and liquid assets to be
distributed immediately upon his death.”
Looking
up from his papers, Mr. Turner said, “Miss Moon, did you hear me? You are a
very wealthy young lady. All you need to do is sign these papers and
all will be yours. There are only a few stipulations. One is you must take up residence at Moon Manor, the family
residence, immediately and use it as your permanent domicile. All
property, real and liquid, must stay within the bloodline of the Moon family
upon the event of your demise, which excludes any husband you might acquire
along the way, and any offspring of yours must maintain the Moon moniker as their
surname.”
Mr.
Turner peered over his papers. “You don’t have any husbands tucked
away somewhere, do you?”
“I’ve
never married.”
“Betrothed?”
“Been
too busy making a living to have time for romance.”
“Any
entanglements I should know about?”
“Look
around. I don’t even have a plant.”
The
lawyer seemed relieved. “At least, we don’t have any inconvenient
domestic details to muddy the waters.”
“You
say I’m wealthy. How much money are we talking about, Mr. Turner?”
“I
don’t have the exact figures with me, but you will never have to work another
day in your life, and your inheritance comes to you debt free. Mr. Moon was
very frugal, but scrupulous about paying his bills. I wish all my clients were like
him. Mr. Moon left his affairs as tidy as one could hope for in a patron.”
Mona
was taken back by this information. “Why would my uncle leave me the Moon
fortune when my father was disowned by the family because of his marriage to my
mother?”
Mr.
Turner winced. “I was hoping that unhappy bit of history would not
raise its ugly head.”
“How
could it not?”
“You’re
quite right. I do not know why he gave all the Moon fortune to you
alone. There are some bequests for his sister, your Aunt Melanie and
her children, but the rest is yours. All you need to do is sign
these papers.” He retrieved a Parker Duofold fountain pen from his
coat pocket and held it out to her.
Skeptical,
Mona said, “I’m not sure.”
“Miss
Moon, I don’t understand your reluctance. I assure you this inheritance is
above-board. Don’t you want to be wealthy, and get out of this rabbit warren of
an apartment building?” Mr. Turner looked about the shabby room.
“I
can’t forget how my father lost his inheritance, and the curt brush-off my
mother got from the Moon family when Father died.”
“That
is not entirely correct, Miss Moon. I know for a fact your uncle
underwrote your education.”
“My
father’s annuity from his maternal grandmother paid for my education.”
“No,
Miss Moon. Your uncle paid for your college education. I would know
because I wrote the checks myself.”
“How
could my mother not have told me?”
“She
was sworn to secrecy by your uncle. He wanted to undo the enmity
between your father and the Moon family, but had to wait until Moon senior had
died to make amends. Unfortunately by that time, your father had
passed on as well.”
“Yet
my uncle was content to have my mother live a life of toil when he could have
easily summoned us both back to Moon Manor.”
“That
would not have been possible, Miss Moon. Even you can see that. It
would have put the Moon family in a very awkward situation
socially. Of course, society is not as strict now as it was thirty
years ago.”
“It
isn’t now?”
All
the principal characters involved in your parents’ scandal are now deceased,
except for your aunt. Being a mid-life child, she was very young at
the time of your parents’ marriage, and not really connected to your father
since he was so much older.”
“Why
didn’t Uncle Michael leave her the Moon fortune?”
“I’d
rather not say.”
“Ah,
come on, Mr. Turner. You’re among friends.”
Forgetting
discretion, Mr. Turner leaned forward and whispered, “He couldn’t stand her––his
own sister. Very bad business there.”
“But
why me? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Mr.
Moon kept watch on you over the years. He was pleased that you
graduated from college with honors and of your exploits as a cartographer and explorer. He
was proud, Miss Moon. Very proud. I think he wanted to right
all the wrongs done to you and your mother.”
“I
don’t know. The whole thing sounds fishy.”
“Miss
Moon, I’m very tired. I will leave the papers with you to
peruse. If you sign the papers, you will become one of the richest young women in the
country. Think of what you could do. You could underwrite your
own expeditions. And there is a loophole. If for some reason
you wish to relinquish your position as head of the Moon fortune after
presiding at Moon Manor, you may turn over the responsibility to your aunt and
live on a stipend provided in the will.”
“I
see.”
“Please
sign, Miss Moon. I wish to go to my hotel and sleep. It
is way past my usual bedtime, and I’m exhausted as you must be as well, but if
you insist, I will call tomorrow expecting your answer.” Mr. Turner
rose, gathering his brief case.
Mona
glanced around the pathetic efficiency. She had worked her fingers
to the bone since graduating college, gaining respect and accolades for her
work, but this is as far as she had gotten in life––a run-down apartment,
scraping for every dime, and now no immediate employment due to some outdated
prejudice of a Winston Banks because of her gender. The idea that she might
have money to finance her own expeditions was intriguing, and there was that
clause to release her from any obligation if Moon Manor turned out to be a
bust. “Just a minute, Mr. Turner. You’re right. I have
nothing to lose, but everything to gain. May I borrow your pen?”
“Assuredly,
Miss Moon,” Mr. Turner answered, handing over the fountain pen. “You won’t
regret this.”
“I’d
better not, Mr. Turner, or you’ll be the first person on my list.”
“List?”
“I
think you know what I mean.”
Mr.
Turner did indeed. After all, Mr. Turner was from Kentucky where folks still
settled grievances with a gun. He had been hoping Miss Moon was of a
different temperament, but apparently the apple hadn’t fallen far from the
tree, so to speak.
Mona
Moon’s little revolver had proven that.
1930s Slab Sponge Cake
(US
Units)
Slab Sponge Cake Ingredients:
3 Eggs
1 Cup Caster Sugar
1 Cup Flour
1/2 tsp Baking Powder
Pinch of Salt
1/4 Cold Water
Powdered Sugar Glaze Icing
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar
3-5 tablespoons heavy cream*
1/2 teaspoon flavored extract
Instructions For Glaze
Place the powdered sugar in a medium-size bowl.
Add the heavy cream a tablespoon at a time until you reach
the consistency you'd like your icing or drizzle to be.
Add the flavor extract of your choice.
Mix well and immediately drizzle or spread over cake as
needed.
Instructions for Slab Sponge Cake
Preheat oven
to 350 degrees. Butter your baking tray.
Beat the eggs
and sugar together until well mixed.
Mix the dry
ingredients into the mixture.
Pour the mixture into your baking tray and bake in
the oven for about 35 minutes or until cooked through.
Except from Murder Under A
Western Moon: A 1930s Mona Moon Mystery
At two o’clock, a few women trickled into the community
center to discover tables covered in fine linen tablecloths with matching
napkins set with fresh floral centerpieces and gold rimmed white china place
settings. Several tables near the stage
were set with matching dessert plates with
slices of vanilla cake covered in thick vanilla butter icing, lemon bars, sour
cream raisin bars, apple-walnut cake with a cinnamon glaze, apple cornbread
crisp, sweet potato cakes, molasses cookies, lavender cookies, slab sponge
cake, and chocolate-covered sourdough donuts.
Dainty bread and butter, cucumber and cream cheese, and roast beef
finger sandwiches on soft white bread with the
crusts cut off accompanied the desserts.
Fruit juice punch, hot tea, coffee, and water were ready to be poured by
four waitresses dressed in pink uniforms with starched white aprons standing at
attention.
Upon seeing the food, several ladies ran out of the center
and down the hill, pounding on the doors of neighbors. “Put on your best frock and come. You’ve got to see this,” the ladies told
their friends.
By two-fifteen, thirty-five women were mingling and eagerly
chatting up a storm. Since many had
never been to a tea before, the waitresses seated them. Women, worn down by the depression and harsh
conditions in Mooncrest Village, became quiet when the powdered and rouged
waitresses smelling of rose water poured water and punch for them. It had been a long time since anyone had
waited upon them or paid any attention to their comfort.
You can purchase Murder Under A Western Moon: A 1930s Mona Moon Mystery at these fine
stores: https://www.abigailkeam.com/books/murder-under-a-western-moon/
Award-winning author Abigail Keam writes the Mona Moon Mystery Series—a rags-to-riches 1930s mystery series, which includes real people and events into the story line. “I am a student of history and love to insert historical information into my mysteries. There is an addendum at the end of the mystery to give more information. My goal is to entertain my readers, but if they learn a little something along the way—well, then we are both happy.”
Miss Abigail currently lives on the Palisades bordering the Kentucky River in a metal house with her husband and various critters.
AWARDS
2010
Gold Medal Award from Readers' Favorite for Death By A HoneyBee
2011
Gold Medal Award from Readers' Favorite for Death By Drowning
2011
USA BOOK NEWS-Best Books List of 2011 as a Finalist for Death By
Drowning
2011 USA BOOK NEWS-Best Books List of 2011 as a Finalist
for Death By A HoneyBee
2017 Finalist from Readers' Favorite for
Death By Design
2019 Honorable Mention from Readers' Favorite for
Death By Stalking
2019 Murder Under A Blue Moon voted top ten
mystery reads by Kings River Life Magazine
2020 Finalist from
Readers' Favorite for Murder Under A Blue Moon
2020 Imadjinn Award
for Best Mystery for Death By Stalking 2022 Finalist in Killer
Nashville Silver Falchion Finalist for Best Historical Category -
Murder Under A Full Moon
2022 Finalist the Killer Nashville Silver
Falchion Award for Best Historical Category - Murder Under A New
Moon
2022 Death By Chance: A Josiah Reynolds Mystery Killer
Nashville Silver Falchion Finalist for Best Cozy Mystery
2022 Top
Ten Mystery Novel by Kings River Life Magazine for Murder Under A
Bridal Moon: A 1930s Mona Moon Mystery
2022 Top Ten Mystery Novel
by Kings River Life Magazine for Murder Under A British Moon: A 1930s
Mona Moon Mystery
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-1 winner each!
The cover art looks great. Sounds like a good story.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Miss Marcy. My husband designed the cover. For more Mona Moon Mysteries, go to www.abigailkeam.com Miss Abigail
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