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“Don’t try to sugarcoat the facts, Sebastian. We had a one-night stand!”
“Stop it, Lily!”
“Why, am I speaking the truth too plainly?”
“It’s not the truth and you know it.”
“No?” A lone tear trembled on her lashes.
“You want to know something?” he muttered. “I wish we could have met under different circumstances. Perhaps if we had…”
“We might have fallen in love? I don’t think so, Sebastian. Love doesn’t come calling only when it’s convenient. Please let me go. I can’t bear your being kind to me like this.”
“It’s not kindness. God help me, I want you, Lily. More than ever. And I think you want me, too.”
CATHERINE SPENCER, once an English teacher, fell into writing through eavesdropping on a conversation about Harlequin romances. Within two months she changed careers and sold her first book to Harlequin in 1984. She moved to Canada from England more than thirty years ago and lives in Vancouver. She is married to a Canadian and has four grown children—two daughters and two sons—plus three dogs and a cat. In her spare time she plays the piano, collects antiques and grows tropical shrubs.
Mistress on His Terms
Catherine Spencer
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
“I’LL be waiting by the baggage claim carousel,” Hugo Preston had told her, when they’d spoken by phone the night before. “You’ll know me by my gray hair and the bouquet of roses I’ll have brought for you—red roses, because tomorrow’s a red-letter day for me. I’m counting the hours until we meet, Lily.”
But the other passengers had already collected their belongings and gone, leaving Lily standing alone with her two suitcases and carry-on bags stowed in a luggage cart. Although there’d been a number of older men with gray hair waiting to meet the Vancouver flight when it landed on time in Toronto, none had been carrying roses, nor had any come forward to identify himself as her biological father.
Caught between a sense of letdown and resentment—so much for his anxiety to connect with the daughter he’d always known about but never met!—Lily took out the map tucked in the side pocket of her purse.
Stentonbridge, the small town where Hugo maintained a year-round residence, lay some hundred and fifty miles northeast of Toronto, so she supposed that, because of the heavy rains in the area, it was conceivable that the drive had taken longer than he’d expected.
But then, another scenario rose up to haunt her. What if, even as she stood there silently berating him for his apparent parental disregard, a car crushed beyond recognition was being hauled out of a ravine, and the man she’d come so far to meet lay covered by a sheet in an ambulance bound for the nearest morgue?
Refusing to allow the thought to take root, she stuffed the map back into her bag. Tragedy like that didn’t strike twice in a row; it was the terrible exception, not the rule. There was some other perfectly plausible reason for Hugo’s tardiness, and quite possibly a message explaining it waiting to be picked up at the airline information desk. If not, he’d given her a number where he could be reached.
Wheeling around, she scanned the arrivals terminal again. A lull between incoming flights left the immediate area relatively uncrowded. Apart from a family of four trying to pack a baby as well as their overflowing bags into one cart, a group of students gathered around their tour leader, and a man forging a purposeful path between the lot of them, she remained in conspicuous isolation.
The man was imposingly tall and the crowd, small though it was, fell back to allow him passage in much the same way, Lily thought with dry amusement, that Moses might have parted the Red Sea. Craning her neck, she peered past him, searching for the familiar Air Canada logo.
He, however, appeared determined not only to obstruct her view but also to occupy the one spot in the whole vast place to which she’d laid claim. In fact, the way he was zeroing in on her, he might have intended running her clean into the ground.
“You’re looking for me,” he announced tersely, coming to a stop so close that she had to tilt her head back to look into his face and the most arrestingly cold blue eyes she’d ever seen.
But gray-haired, elderly and kindly hardly fit his description. “Oh, no, I’m not!” she informed him with equal brevity and attempted to push past him.
He had a hold of her buggy, though, and it wasn’t going anywhere without his permission. “You’re Lily Talbot,” he said, and it occurred to Lily that any other man would have couched the words as a question. But this modern-day Moses wasn’t subject to the limitations of the rest of humanity. Preferential treatment from on high had blessed him with special powers. No doubt he could have told her what brand of toothpaste she used, if she’d been of a mind to inquire!
Instead she said stiffly, “More to the point, who are you?”
“Sebastian Caine.”
He introduced himself as if the mere mention of his name should be enough to start bells of recognition clanging in the mind of even the most dim-witted person. Not about to cater to such a monumental ego, Lily said, “How nice!” and gave her buggy a determined shove. “Unhand my cart, please. I’d like to make a phone call and find out what happened to the person I’m supposed to meet.”
“No need,” he said, not budging an inch. “I’m your chauffeur.”
Clearly he no more relished the idea of driving her to Stentonbridge than she did. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t climb into cars with strange men.”
A flicker of what might have been a smile twitched the corners of his mouth before he wrestled it back into its former severe line. “You haven’t known me long enough to label me ‘strange,’ Miss Talbot.”
“It’s ‘Ms.,’” she said. “And regardless of whatever label you care to hang around your neck, I’m not getting into a car with you. I’ll wait until Mr. Preston gets here.”
“Hugo isn’t coming.”
She’d been afraid of that. “Why not?”
“Because I persuaded him to stay at home.”
“And he always does as you tell him, does he?”
“Not as often as he should,” Sebastian Caine said bitterly. “If he did, you wouldn’t be here now and I wouldn’t be wasting my time carrying on this inane conversation. Let go of the damned luggage cart, for pity’s sake! I’m not about to abscond with it—or you, come to that. But I would like to load up and be out of here before the rush hour gets any worse.”
He’d referred to Hugo by his first name without any prompting from her. He’d known who she was. He wore a look of unimpeachable propriety. His clothes, his watch, even his haircut were expensive, and he no more resembled a kidnapper than she did a call girl. But appearances could be deceiving, as she’d learned to her considerable cost. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I’ve verified your identity with my father,” she said.
He stiffened and a grimace of aversion rolled over his face, as if her referring to Hugo as her father was an affront to decent society. Lips compressed in annoyance, he produced a cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, punched in a two-digit code and thrust the instrument at her. “Be my guest.”
She accepted it warily, still not entirely sure she ought to trust him. But a glance at the illuminated screen showed Hugo’s name and number.
“Will you for pity’s sake hit Send and get on with it,” Sebastian Caine snapped, noting her reluctance. “It’s a phone, not a bomb. It won’t explode in your hand.”
Hugo answered on the third ring. “I’m so glad you called, Lily,” he said. “There’s been a slight change in plan—an old back injury’s flared up to give me grief, so my stepson Sebastian’s meeting your flight and driving you up here. He’s about six foot three, dark haired, good-looking so the women tell me, and hard to miss even in a crowd.”
Add rude, arrogant and condescending, and the description would be complete, Lily thought. “We’ve met,” she said, glaring at Sebastian Caine and itching to wipe the smug expression off his face. “He’s standing in front of me, even as we speak.” Not to mention practically stealing the air I breathe!
“Excellent! Ask him if we should hold dinner for you.”
She did so, and could have been forgiven for thinking, from the way Sebastian commandeered the phone and hunched one shoulder away from her, that his answer conveyed information pertinent to national security. His voice carried loud and clear, though, as he said, “Hugo? Better not wait dinner for us. This afternoon’s meeting ran late and I’ve got one more call to make before I head back.”
Whatever Hugo replied had Sebastian casting her another of his disapproving looks. “I suppose so, if you like that sort of thing,” he eventually said, “but I can’t say I see any startling family resemblance. She could be anybody from anywhere.”
He made it sound as if she were something unwholesome he’d scraped off the sidewalk! If it weren’t that she had no more sense of direction than a drunken field mouse, she’d have dearly loved to rent her own car and tell him to stick his offer to drive her where it would lodge most uncomfortably. Instead she swallowed her pride and allowed him to hustle her and her baggage out to the parking area.
Practically sprinting to keep up with him as he plowed his way to where he’d left his car, she asked, “How long will it take to drive to Stentonbridge?”
“Normally around three hours. Today, because of the weather and delays, more like four or five.”
To say he sounded ticked off gave grim new meaning to the word understatement. “I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced on my account. I’d have been just as happy to take a train or bus.”
“None run from here to Stentonbridge and even if one did, Hugo wouldn’t hear of it.” His voice took on a derisive edge. “You’re the long-lost daughter returning to the fold, and he wants you welcomed in style.”
“It’s rather obvious you don’t share his enthusiasm.”
He spared her a brief, dismissive glance. “Why should I? Even if you’re who you claim you are—”
“There’s no even if about it,” she said. “I have documented proof.”
“Which has yet to be verified as authentic.” He swung the luggage cart to a halt behind a sports car as long, dark and sleekly handsome as its owner, popped open the trunk and started piling her bags inside. “You want any of this stuff in the front with you?”
“No.”
“Then since the door’s unlocked, climb in and get settled. I’m in a hurry.”
“Well, silly me!” she said sweetly. “Here I thought you were merely in training for a decathlon!”
He raised one winged brow and cast her a look that might have turned a more prudent woman to stone. “Don’t push your luck, Ms. Talbot. You’ve already tried my patience to the limit.”
“And how have I done that, Sebastian?”
His pinched nostrils told her exactly what he thought of such untoward familiarity. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”
“But I’m not here to see you. In fact, crushing though it might be for you to hear this, I didn’t even know of your existence until ten minutes ago.”
“You raise an interesting question nonetheless,” he said, slamming closed the trunk and ushering her into the passenger seat with more haste than gallantry before sliding his rangy frame behind the steering wheel. “Why, after all this time, do you want to see Hugo?”
“He’s my father. What better reason is there?”
“But why now? If you’re telling the truth, he’s been your father all your life.”
“I didn’t know that until recently.”
“Precisely my point, Ms. Talbot. You’ve managed without him for the better part of twenty-six years. You’re well past the point where you need a guardian. There’s no emotional tie between you. So what’s the real reason you’re suddenly sniffing around?”
He made her sound like an ill-bred bloodhound. “It’s highly personal and not something I choose to share with a total stranger.”
“There are no secrets between Hugo and me.”
“Apparently there are,” she said smugly. “Judging by your reaction to my sudden appearance, he never confided to you that he had a daughter waiting in the wings.”
“Maybe,” Sebastian replied, giving back as good as he got, “because he never missed you. The daughter he does know and love more than compensated for your absence.”
“I have a…sister?” The concept struck a strangely unsettling, though not unpleasant note. She had been an only child who’d always wanted to be part of a big family, but there hadn’t even been cousins she could be close to. No aunts or uncles, and no grandparents. Just her mother and the man she’d known as her father. “We don’t need anyone else,” he’d often said. “The three of us have each other.”
Three, that was, until the September day ten months before, when a police officer showed up at her door and told her her parents were among the fatalities of a multivehicle accident on a foggy highway in North Carolina.
“Half sister,” Sebastian Caine said. “Natalie is Hugo’s child by his second marriage to my mother.”
“So what does that make you and me?” she asked, aiming to introduce a more cordial tone to the conversation. “Half stepbrother and sister?”
He cut her off in a voice as cold and sharp as the blade of an ax. “It makes us nothing.”
“Well, praise heaven!” she replied, stung.
“Indeed.”
They’d cleared the airport by then and joined the stream of traffic headed through the pouring rain for downtown Toronto. He was probably a very skilled driver, but the memory of her parents as they’d looked when she’d gone to make a positive identification remained too fresh in her mind, and the way Sebastian Caine zipped around slower vehicles left her bracing herself for disaster.
“Keep pumping an imaginary brake like that, and you’ll wind up putting your foot through the floor,” he observed, zooming up behind another car with what struck her as cavalier disregard for safety.
“I don’t fancy ending up in someone else’s trunk, that’s all.”
He sort of smiled. At least, she supposed that was what the movement of his lips amounted to. “Do I make you nervous, Ms. Talbot?”
She closed her eyes as he changed lanes and zipped past a moving truck. “Yes.”
“Then you’re wiser than I expected.”
Her eyes flew open again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I don’t trust you or your motives. It means I’ll be watching every move you make while you’re here. Put a foot wrong, and I’ll be all over you.”
“How exciting. Be still my heart!”
“I’m serious.”
“I can see that you are. What puzzles me is why I’m such a threat to your peace of mind. I assure you I don’t plan to run off with the family silver or murder people in their beds. I have questions that only Hugo Preston can answer, that’s all.”
“You didn’t have to come halfway across the country for that. The telephone was invented a long time ago.”
“I’m curious to meet my father face-to-face.”
“I just bet you are!” he sneered.
She shrugged. “So sue me.”
“Give me reason to, and I will.”
She stared at him, unable to fathom his hostility, but his expression gave nothing away and she wasn’t about to beg for an explanation. “I’m afraid you’re in for a terrible disappointment,” she said instead. “I have no hidden agenda in coming here.”
His mouth tightened.
“There’s nothing unnatural in a person wanting to meet her biological parent.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror, stepped on the accelerator and raced past a stretch limo. Prickles of sweat broke out along her spine as he took an off-ramp at alarming speed.
Thrusting both palms flat against the dashboard, she asked, “How many auto accidents have you had?”
The question was ill-advised, to say the least. He speared her with a chilly sideways glare, which glimmered with evil amusement. “None. But there’s a first time for everything.”
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer you postpone the premiere performance until I’m not your passenger.”
“Your preferences don’t rank high on my list of priorities, Ms. Talbot. In fact, it’s safe to say they don’t register at all. As for your perceived sense of danger, let me assure you I don’t intend risking either life or limb on your account.”
They’d turned onto a street lined with elegant town houses by then. Braking to a stop next to a van, he shifted into reverse and began backing into a parking space so tight, it invited disaster. She opened her mouth to tell him so, then snapped it closed again as, without a moment’s hesitation or a single false move, he angled the car into place and brought it to rest parallel to the curb.
He reached behind her seat, leaning close enough that she got a pleasant whiff of his aftershave, and hauled out a briefcase. “Wait here,” he ordered, climbing out of the car. “I won’t be long.”
Lily watched as he loped across the street and up the steps to a door three houses down. Before he had the chance to ring the bell, a woman appeared. She was very pleased to see him, if the smile and hug she bestowed were anything to go by, and she was also very pregnant. He slung an arm around her shoulders and the two of them disappeared inside the house.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty. The clouds, which had been dense enough to start with, grew even darker. Not long after, a light came on at an upstairs window of the house into which Sebastian Caine had disappeared.
“Oh, fine thing!” Lily muttered resentfully. “I’m left cooling my heels in here while he has an assignation with his mistress. No wonder he told Hugo not to hold dinner!”
She twisted around and craned her neck, searching the narrow area behind the two front seats in the hope of finding something to wile away the time—a newspaper or magazine, even a map of the area. But the only item of interest was Sebastian’s passport lying open and facedown on the floor.
She prided herself on being an essentially decent person, the kind who returned her library books on time, held open doors for the elderly, and told little white lies only when absolutely necessary. She definitely did not consider herself to be the sort who snooped through other people’s medicine cabinets or read their mail. But that darned passport drew her like a magnet and before the full import of what she was doing could properly register, she found herself picking it up and sneaking a look inside.
In line with those of most other people she knew, her own passport picture made her look as if she belonged on North America’s Ten Most Wanted list, but Sebastian Andrew Caine might have commissioned a portrait photographer to produce his. His face stared back at her in all its direct-gazed, firm-jawed glory.
He’d been blessed with impeccable cheekbones, thick black hair, eyelashes to draw the envy of every woman alive and a disarming cleft in his chin. On top of that, as she knew from firsthand observation, he stood well over six feet and probably sent his tailor into raptures over his trim, perfectly proportioned physique.
Too bad he’d been at the end of the receiving line when God dispensed charm!
Though now a Canadian citizen, he’d been born in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, on April 23, thirty-four years ago. He traveled often and mostly to exotic places like Turkey, Russia, The Far East, Morocco and Greece.
She thumbed through the pages. His most recent port of call had been Cairo; his most far-flung Rarotonga. He’d visited Rio de Janeiro twice in the last three years and the southern Baja four times. What with jaunts all over the world and house calls to his current ladylove, it was a wonder he found time to work!
Annoyed at being kept waiting, Lily slapped the passport closed and turned to glare across the street at the house he’d entered, only to find her view blocked by Sebastian Caine’s tall figure. Completely unmindful of the rain pelting down, he stood beside her window, glaring right back at her.
At the realization that she’d been caught blatantly prying into something that was absolutely none of her business, her whole body blushed, starting at her toes and spreading in waves until the blood suffused her face and left it burning. Even her throat and eyeballs felt parched. She could neither swallow nor blink. She simply sat in paralyzed horror and prayed he was a mirage created by the rain weaving patterns down the glass.
At best, it was an unlikely alternative and one he soon disabused her of by striding around the back of the car and wrenching open the driver’s door.
Of course, there was no justifying what she’d been caught doing. Still, she felt compelled to try. “It was lying on the floor,” she blustered, the minute he climbed into the car.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His raised eyebrows told her plainly enough what he thought of that as an excuse.
“So I picked it up. A passport’s not something to be left lying around, you know.”
He leaned back in his seat and continued his frigid, unblinking regard.
Self-preservation told her she was merely digging herself in deeper with every word and that her best bet was to keep quiet. But his silence, charged with unspoken accusation as it was, unnerved her. “I mean, it could just as easily have fallen out on the road without your noticing, and I’m sure you know what a hassle it is trying to get a replacement…. Particularly if you needed to travel overseas in a hurry… Not to mention the ramifications of some underworld figure getting hold of it and putting it to criminal use…and…well…”
“Are you quite done?” he asked, when she finally ran out of steam.
She looked down, realized she was still clutching the passport and hurriedly dropped it into his lap. “Yes.”
“Thank God!”
He tossed the passport over his shoulder, and eased the car out of its parking spot. The rush hour was in full swing by then, which made it a bit easier for her to tolerate his aloof silence since she had no wish to distract him from the job of negotiating the heavy traffic. But when the city limits lay far behind them and the only sound to break the twilight hush was the frenzied swipe of the windshield wipers, she decided they’d both sulked long enough.
“I’m afraid,” she said, slewing a glance at him, “that we got off to a rocky start and I’d like to apologize for my part in that.”
His shrug of acknowledgment could hardly be construed as encouraging.
Still, she persevered. “I really don’t make a habit of going through other people’s private possessions, you know. But you were gone longer than you led me to expect and I was just looking for something to read.”
He favored her with a scathing glance. “In that case, I suppose I should count myself lucky that you stopped with my passport. There must be at least a dozen legal files back there, which would have provided you with much juicier entertainment and after you’d read your fill, you could have blackmailed me for breaching lawyer-client confidentiality.”
“I didn’t know you’re a lawyer.”
“And I didn’t know you’re a meddlesome busybody, so that makes us even.”
She shifted in her seat, the better to observe him. He really was quite outstandingly good-looking. “Why are you so determined to dislike me, Sebastian?”
“I have no feelings toward you, one way or the other, Ms. Talbot. I already told you, you’re an inconvenience, but I’ll get over that as soon as I’ve deposited you on Hugo’s doorstep.” He punctuated his statement with a telling pause before continuing, “Provided you don’t hurt him or anyone else I care about.”
“It’s obvious you think I’ll do exactly that.”
He swung his head and pinioned her in his cold blue stare, and she almost cringed at the expression she saw in their depths. “Let’s just say that, in my experience, the apple seldom falls far from the tree.”
She stared at him, more perplexed by the second. “Meaning?”
“Meaning if you’re anything like your mother—!”
But then, as if he’d given away more than he intended, he clamped his mouth shut and returned his attention to the road.
Lily, though, wasn’t so inclined to let the subject drop. “What do you know about my mother?”
“More than I care to.”
“Because of things Hugo’s told you?”
“Hugo had no contact with her for more than twenty-six years.”
“Exactly! Which make his opinions less than reliable.”
“Then for once we’re in agreement.” He flicked on the right turn indicator and slowed the car as they approached the neon-lit entrance to a restaurant set back about fifty yards from the road. “On which fortuitous note, I propose we stop for something to eat. Stentonbridge is still a good two hours’ drive away.”
Part of her wanted to tell him she was more interested in having him explain his cryptic remarks than she was in food. But another, more cautious part urged her not to pursue the topic. That he knew more than he was telling was plain enough, but although she’d come here looking for answers, she didn’t want them from him. Whether or not he’d admit it, there was too much anger seething beneath his surface, and she didn’t relish the idea of it bursting loose on some dark country road miles from anywhere.
She’d waited this long to find out the truth. She could wait a few hours longer.
She wasn’t what he’d anticipated. Watching her covertly as she studied the menu, he had trouble reconciling the woman sitting opposite him in the booth with his expectations of a vulgar, money-grubbing fortune hunter. He’d been prepared for flashy good looks, provocative necklines, big hair, fake fingernails and too much cheap jewelry. They fit the image. Lily Talbot did not.
Oh, he supposed she was pretty enough, in an ordinary sort of way. More than pretty, some might say. But the cheapness wasn’t there, no matter how hard he searched for it. She had narrow, elegant feet. Her hands were delicate, the nails well-cared for and buffed to a soft shine. Her features were small and regular. Patrician, almost. Her dark brown hair lay smooth and shining against her cheek. She looked out at the world from wide, candid eyes and she smiled a lot. Her mouth was permanently upturned at the corners, her lips soft and full.
Apart from a watch, her only other jewelry was a pair of small gold earrings. She wore a blue denim skirt, which came to just below her knees, a short-sleeved white blouse buttoned to a vee at the front and sandals. Her legs were bare and, he hadn’t been able to help noticing, extremely long and shapely. Her skin was lightly tanned and she’d painted her toenails pink. They reminded him of dainty little shells.
Ticked off, he glowered at her, knowing Hugo would love her, that he’d accept her immediately and not once question her motives for suddenly wanting to make contact with him. But the fact remained that her mother’s betrayal, over a quarter of a century before, had nearly killed him, and it was Sebastian’s self-appointed job to make sure the daughter didn’t finish the job now.
Unaware of his scrutiny, she tapped her fingernail against her front teeth and continued to peruse the menu. She had lovely teeth, a lovely smile. “For Pete’s sake, I invited you here to eat, not spend the night,” he practically barked. “Make up your mind what you want to order.”
“I like looking at menus,” she said, rewarding him with a look of pained reproach from her big brown eyes.
“Then you must be a very slow reader. I could have memorized the entire thing in half the time you’re taking to get through it.”
“Well, I’m not like you.”
Hell, no! She was pure woman, and the fact that he couldn’t stop taking inventory of her assets was beginning to irk him more than a little! “In case it’s slipped your mind, Hugo’s been waiting a long time to meet you. If it’s all the same to you, I’d as soon not prolong his agony.”
She slapped the menu closed and leaned back in the booth. “I’ll have a large order of fries and a vanilla milk shake.”
“You took all this time to decide on a milkshake and fries?” he asked incredulously.
“With ketchup.”
“If that’s all you want, we could have stopped at a fast-food drive-in and saved ourselves some time.”
She collected her bag and the sweater she’d heaped on the bench. “Okay. Let’s go find one.”
“Stay where you are!”
He must have raised his voice more than he realized because the next thing he knew, the waitress had come barging over to their booth to inquire, “Your boyfriend giving you trouble, honey?”
Lily Talbot exploded into warm, infectious laughter, as if the woman had said something hilariously amusing. “Heavens, he’s not my boyfriend!”
“And I’m not giving her trouble.”
The waitress eyed him darkly. “You’d better not be.” She fished out her notepad and waited with pen poised. “So what’ll you have?”
He relayed Lily’s request and ordered a steak sandwich and coffee for himself. “I thought women like you existed on salad and tofu,” he said, while they waited for their food.
“Women like me?” She regarded him pertly. “And what kind of woman is that, Sebastian?”
“Under thirty and in thrall to the latest trend, no matter how outlandish it might be.”
“You don’t know much about women, do you?”
Enough to know you’re bad for my concentration, he could have told her.
She leaned forward and he couldn’t help noticing the graceful curve of her breasts beneath her blouse. He even found himself wondering if she was wearing a bra. Damn her!
“Real women aren’t slaves to fashion, Sebastian,” she informed him, her tone suggesting she found him singularly lacking in intelligence. “We make up our own rules.”
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