Knowing You – Samantha Tonge

‘Starting a new fashion?’ says a tall man in a cap. He’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s winter and is squashed against me on the busy train. I look down. This crowded space is sweltering, so I took off my coat and accidentally revealed that my jumper is on inside out. I blush but the man raises one eyebrow and makes me laugh. ‘Hey, it doesn’t matter, your hair is a great distraction – the curls are fantastic.’ We both grin. Clearly he’s being polite. They are wilder than usual. Brushing them wasn’t a priority when faced with being late to work because I wanted to spend as much of Valentine’s Day as possible with Lenny. Humming, I emerge from the musty depths of the London underground and make my way to Thoth Publishing. Thoth was the Ancient Egyptian god of writing. It was the unusual name that had first attracted me to the company. Historical words sound so solid and reliable. I push through the rotating doors and head to the silver lift.

It slides open. I enter and press number three. Moments later, I reach the editorial floor just one minute after nine o’clock. I go into the staff kitchen, fill a miniature watering can and, before anything else, revive my desk plant. ‘You must be desperate for your mid-week drink,’ I say to the wilting flower heads. ‘They can’t understand, you know,’ says my senior editor in an affectionate tone, putting two cups of tea on the desks. ‘For a children’s fiction editor, Irfan, you don’t half lack imagination.’ I change out of my rain-splashed trainers and into smarter flat shoes. As a child, I used to share my secrets with a favourite cactus and Tinker the cat. I’d also chat with teddies and felt pangs of guilt when Mum eventually disposed of them at the charity shop.

After taking off my aubergine-coloured duffle coat and my bobble hat, I sit down. The office is open plan and I’m opposite Irfan. My space is organised and neat, with a pen tidy, a tub of multicoloured paper clips, a photo of me and Lenny, a jar of cookies and a packet of keyboard cleaner wipes. Irfan teases me for using them every night. I stare at the photo and think back to this morning. Lenny mumbled something about me being a great person. I teased him that he was only saying it because I cooked him egg and chips last night. He loves home comfort food. When eating out, Lenny only pretends to prefer high-end dishes. I wrapped my arms around his neck and moved in for a kiss, soaking up the intimacy that had been missing of late.

In recent weeks he’s seemed so stressed, working into the night and coming in with just enough energy to brush his teeth before bed. It’s Wednesday, my day for tackling submissions. I feel like a Gold Rush miner with a pan in his hand. I’m so lucky to be a junior editor working alongside Irfan after being promoted from publishing assistant. Lenny is trying to push his career forwards. He’s still learning the ropes at a literary agency, and running its social media platforms has become a favourite part of his job. He’s always attending some blogger get-together or book launch. No canapés go unsnapped for Instagram. No snippet of book news swerves his Twitter feed. I pick a manuscript off the top of my pile.

He keeps telling me to photograph our cat Flossie posed next to my authors’ books in order to raise my profile but I don’t require lots of followers or likes, because I reckon I have everything I need – although a new car that doesn’t stall quite so often would be appreciated, along with a boiler that hasn’t got a mind of its own. I have Lenny, a job I love and Flossie. Warmth radiates through my chest as I think back to this morning and how things felt like they had when we first got together. Lenny and I are celebrating Valentine’s properly tonight but a rare spontaneous thought jumps into my mind. I know he said he’d be busy today, but everyone needs to eat – at lunch I’ll pop over to his offices to surprise him. At midday sharp, I wrap up well again. I head downstairs and into the reception. From his curved white desk, Hugo catches my eye. A gym fanatic, he looks strong enough to flick the desk across the building. Hugo’s a people person and prides himself on knowing agents, authors and publishers on sight from memorising so many profile pictures.

He shoots me his usual smile, which is warmer than his efficient one for senior editors but less flirtatious than that reserved for the young female interns. I hurry to the nearby Euston underground station. An icy wind cuts across my face and I hitch up my scarf to cover my mouth. The earlier rain has morphed into small flakes of snow. My body rocks from side to side as I try to keep my balance in the stuffy train. I climb up steps into the fresh air and spot the waffle house where we had our first date. We’d almost walked past, but a whiff of something toasty stopped my feet. Its door had creaked a welcome, which was seconded by the gurgle of a coffee machine. Soft jazz played and tangerine flames licked the top of the fireplace. Sweet and savoury smells jostled for our attention.

We’d talked about our favourite authors and mutual obsession with Harry Potter. The conversation felt easy as we finished each other’s sentences. I’m just about to turn away when I see – is that Lenny in the window? I cross the road and push open the waffle house’s door, my anticipation rewarded by the familiar creak. Despite not having been here for a while, it hasn’t changed one bit apart from the vases of red roses for Valentine’s Day. I walk in and warmth massages my shoulders. This February is so cold I’m wearing eighty denier tights under my trousers, which was my neighbour Kath’s tip. Lenny is sitting opposite a woman and his whole body spells enjoyment, from his gesticulating hands to his spread-eagled thighs. She must be a size eight and wears a stylish tailored trouser suit. Her ash blonde bob has been dip-dyed in pink and— Oh my goodness. It’s Beatrix Bingham.

I can’t believe it. Along with my boss Felicity, she’s one of the most respected science fiction editors in the industry. I’ve followed her career since my first internship and seen her at a couple of work functions. She edited the well-known Earth Gazer series. Felicity has never really got over missing out on that acquisition. The books charted high all over the world and the film adaptation of the second book is currently being screened. Science fiction isn’t my favourite genre, but Beatrix’s career is such an inspiration. She’s razor sharp and one of London’s publishing darlings. She’s achieved so much and only just turned thirty. My pulse quickens.

I hold back for a second, take off my gloves and wipe my nose with a tissue. I pull off my hat and attempt to smooth down my hair. It hangs way past my shoulders but due to the curls looks much shorter. It’s strange that Lenny didn’t mention their meeting. He knows that I always read her blog. She replied to one of my comments once and I screenshot it. He’d teased me about how excited I was. Her laugh flutters across the room like a butterfly. This is a dream come true. I cross the room and squeeze his shoulder.

Lenny looks up. ‘Violet. What are you doing here?’ ‘I thought I’d surprise you, but should have realised you might have a lunchtime meeting.’ His cheeks flush. ‘Yes. Sorry. I can’t just—’ ‘Don’t worry. I needed some fresh air anyway.’Lenny must be truly surprised because he doesn’t introduce me to Beatrix. I hold out my hand.

To my embarrassment, it shakes. Beatrix is such an influencer. She oozes the professional confidence I hope to acquire one day. ‘It’s fantastic to meet you. I’ve followed your career for years. Watching your progress has encouraged me no end. I’m Violet Vaughan from Thoth Publishing.’ After pausing, Beatrix takes my fingers. Hers feel limp. ‘Can I just say,’ she says in a cool voice, ‘what an unusual coat.

How very brave of you to wear it.’ Is it? ‘Trixie – Beatrix – is heading up a new imprint called Out There Stories,’ says Lenny quickly. Trixie? Imagine being on such familiar terms with your professional idol. ‘So I hear. Congratulations. It all sounds very exciting.’ I’d registered Beatrix’s name with Google Alerts years ago. I was in awe of how quickly she was climbing the publishing ladder. Whenever a new intern starts at Thoth, I always tell them to follow her blog. She’s especially supportive of raising the profile of female authors, and frequently runs competitions for giving feedback on women writers’ work.

‘When exactly does it launch?’ ‘In September. I’m looking for some really stand out novels to make an impact,’ she says without looking at me. She glances at Lenny instead and picks up her phone, punching at it with polished nails that look more like claws. I stand waiting for Lenny to say something. Why is this encounter so stilted? I still don’t understand why they’ve met up for lunch and how they know each other so well. He shuffles in his seat. ‘Beatrix loves Casey Wilde,’ he blurts out as if to fill the silence. What? Lenny’s shown an editor the manuscript he’s been most excited about in ages? Wilde is one of his agency’s new authors whose book would be perfect for Beatrix’s new imprint. But it’s not out on submission yet and Lenny could get into trouble. Her shoulders relax and she looks up.

‘It’s been a real honour to have a look at her work before it’s quite ready for submission. Alien Hearts is a romantic masterpiece. And feminist. It’s completely captured the emotions behind the Time’s Up movement.’ I still can’t believe Beatrix has enjoyed a pre-submission sneak peek. Lenny and I routinely let each other look at manuscripts not yet in the public arena, but that’s just for the joy of reading and is kept strictly between us. ‘I was almost in tears when I read that last chapter,’ I say. ‘It’s incredibly sad when the alien is forced to kill the man she’s fallen in love with.’ ‘I don’t know anyone who’s kept a dry eye during those final paragraphs,’ says Lenny enthusiastically. ‘Just imagine it as a film.

Jennifer Lawrence would smash playing the lead.’ ‘I cried too,’ says Beatrix. ‘Tears of joy at the money Alpaca Books and Casey Wilde are going to make.’ She looks at her watch and back at Lenny. ‘Well, best of luck with Out There Stories,’ I say brightly. ‘And it would be great to see you at Thoth’s twentieth birthday party in a few months. We’ve posted over one hundred invitations. I hope you received yours. It’s all rather exciting.’ The invitations were written in scroll fashion and sent out in cardboard tubes thanks to Thoth Publishing’s name having Ancient Egyptian origins.

We’d booked a boutique hotel called Anubis opposite Hyde Park. Hoping that the party would raise the company’s profile, Felicity had provided a more than decent budget. However, Beatrix doesn’t appear to have heard and taps on her phone again. ‘I’ll ring you later,’ says Lenny with an apologetic look as I turn to leave. Chapter 2 ‘You’ve hardly said a word since you got back from lunch. Shall I take you to A & E?’ Irfan smiles and points to his watch. I give the thumbs up. In ten minutes, our meeting with author Gary Smith should begin. I put my jumper on the right way and focus again on my screen. Something about my encounter with Beatrix was definitely off.

I’m still a little flummoxed as to why Lenny’s never mentioned meeting her. I decide to search on Twitter for clues, although I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I log in and visit her feed. I scroll through the tweets about new authors’ books, recently signed deals and publishing jokes. Then a couple from a few weeks ago catch my attention. Beatrix sent Lenny a humorous meme about acquiring new authors. He replied with a dancing alien gif. I scroll further back to find more innocuous tweets that wouldn’t merit a second glance to anyone else. What piques my interest is the occasional one that has nothing to do with work. I pick up my phone and open Instagram.

I’ve only posted twenty-two photos in six months and haven’t looked at friends’ pictures since Christmas. I go to Lenny’s page. He posts at least a couple a day. I skim the images of fancy food, book covers and launches. I’m just about to log out when I spot a selfie of him and Beatrix. I screw up my eyes and stare at the surroundings. It’s the cafe at Waterstones Piccadilly that looks more like a restaurant and is a favourite venue for book launches. Yet this snap strikes me as so personal. Lenny’s arm is around her shoulders and they’re cheek-to-cheek as if taking part in some intimate dance. I take in her statement necklace, the perfect scarlet lipstick and matching nails.

For the first time, I detail her appearance instead of her achievements. I take a deep breath and exit the app, observing how my nails looked stubby and cracked. Twenty minutes have passed and Gary hasn’t arrived. Irfan and I head to the side room regardless. It’s always been my dream to help writers realise theirs. When I was little, Uncle Kevin told me I could achieve whatever I wanted. I finger the silver book pendant around my neck that he gave me before he moved to New York. I follow Irfan through the office and my eyes stray to the huge windows on the left. Fat snowflakes tumble through the air like polystyrene loose fill, as if I’m in a snow globe turned inside out. Kath won’t be pleased.

Her shoulder still isn’t right since slipping on ice last month. I’ll pop in after work to see if she’s dared to venture out. I push open the door and we enter the small room. I’ve already set out a selection of biscuits and the coffee is brewing. We sit down in the comfortable chairs and I slip a small circle of shortbread into my mouth. Whilst Irfan sorts through his paperwork, my thoughts are pulled back to Lenny and Beatrix. It’s like when I read an author’s first draft and haven’t yet pinpointed exactly what isn’t right. Irfan sighs and stares at the sweet treats. He pats the stomach that his doctor thinks needs to be smaller. ‘I could do with cheering up since Farah’s decided to tackle my diabetes risk and put me on a health kick.

’ ‘Don’t worry. I’ve just the thing for you.’ I stand up and reach for a plate next to the coffee pot. ‘Gary said that he’s also under doctor’s orders to change his diet, remember?’ I put down a platter of neatly lined up vegetable sticks and dip. ‘I got these just in case he doesn’t want biscuits.’ ‘I might say something rude if I wasn’t full of admiration – as usual – for your attention to detail.’ I like Irfan, as well as computer consultant Farah. Sometimes she meets him after work for a meal out or theatre trip. Now and again they invite me over for dinner. She makes the best onion bhajis.

They melt in the mouth. I make them laugh with my lack of faith in dishwashers and insistence that I clean the plates by hand. Sometimes after work I’ll take them for coffee. Farah and I drink ours unadulterated black while Irfan enjoys indulgent creations like hazelnut lattes. We pick her brain about computer problems. An avid reader, Farah asks us about Thoth’s latest acquisitions. The two of them look like a good match as much as Lenny and I don’t. They both dress down for work in jeans, love musicals and spend holidays hiking in the wild. Lenny and I once had one of those indulgent conversations that new couples enjoy. He’d wanted to know what I thought of him in bed.

I said his oil massages were second to none and loved the fact that he didn’t enjoy sex unless I had. Then I asked him what he liked about me. This was one year ago, just after we’d moved into the flat. Lenny said he liked the way I kissed. On a more practical note, he praised the way I made cheese and pickle rolls. Eventually my probe burrowed through the surface. ‘You’re sort of like my… keepsafe,’ he said. ‘Moving to the capital was daunting. I missed the easy, cosseted student life. You made London feel like a home and helped me focus on my career.

’ I had studied English in Durham, while Lenny went to Manchester Metropolitan. We met in The British Library almost two years ago, a few weeks after moving to the city and into tiny bedsits. We’d both been mature students, taking a gap year after the sixth form to do internships. I guess I’m lucky. I’ve always enjoyed that feeling of being at home as long as there’s a good book between my hands. Lenny’s revelation made me realise I’m his go-to book in a way. I make him feel safe in a world of chaos. He said he loves that about me which must be the same as saying those three magic words straight. So I’ve written them in his Valentine’s Day card. I feel like I should have reciprocated his declaration by now.

We were in too much of a rush to exchange presents this morning. I can’t wait until tonight when I cook him a special Valentine’s dinner. Irfan looks at his watch again. ‘I’ll go down to reception,’ I say. When I arrive, all is quiet. Snow is settling outside. ‘Our author should be here by now.’ Hugo shrugs. ‘Perhaps it’s this weather. I can’t say I’m looking forward to bracing it tonight.

You must have had a large incentive to go out earlier – perhaps a romantic lunch?’ He pulls a face. ‘I’m helping Dad decorate his kitchen today. Not sure how I ended up without a date on the one day of the year a meal out is most likely to end with a shag.’ I shake my head and he laughs. ‘You know I only say things like that to wind you up.’ It’s true. Hugo’s no misogynist. He’s popular with the opposite sex because he shows respect. It’s his commitment that’s lacking and he rarely dates the same woman for longer than a few weeks. His desk props me up.

‘I wanted to surprise Lenny. Take him to lunch.’ ‘I hope he ended up paying as recompense for you braving the cold.’ ‘Not exactly. He was in the waffle house with someone else.’ ‘Business?’ Hugo yawns. What can I say? Casey Wilde’s book isn’t out on submission yet. ‘Networking.’ I gaze at Hugo. He knows everything about everyone, from professional achievements to random details.

That includes me. A bookseller once emailed because Hugo told him I baked the best brownies this side of the Atlantic. He wanted the recipe for his Californian wife’s birthday. ‘Lenny was meeting Beatrix Bingham.’ It’s not how Hugo reacts – it’s how he doesn’t, by concentrating on the signing-in book even harder, as if it were a newly discovered Dickens manuscript. He’s remarkably quiet. ‘Have you ever met her?’ I ask and raise my eyebrows. Hugo and I get on well. Sometimes we eat lunch together. He’ll give me the run-down on any agent I’m due to meet and of course, we’ll talk books.

Hugo loves Young Adult fiction. We’re both huge fans of John Green. He’ll try to show me photos of his latest date but I always refuse, citing no need. She’ll have straightened hair, look athletic and well-groomed. We joke that his type is the antithesis of me. ‘I’ve seen her a few times, most recently at Waterstones Piccadilly for a book launch last month.’ He runs a finger down signatures and focuses on a name that didn’t sign out. ‘No doubt she’s on your hit list even though she’s way out of your league.’ I keep the tone light. ‘I’d probably be in with a chance.

She likes younger men.’ We don’t speak for a few moments and I realise I’ve folded my arms. ‘What do you mean?’ I ask eventually. No response. ‘Hugo?’ The phone rings. He picks it up. Expresses sympathy. Hangs up. ‘That was Gary Smith. His bike skidded on ice.

He’s okay but the chain’s broken. He’ll have to reschedule.’ Hugo shakes his head. ‘What sort of idiot cycles in this weather?’ ‘An ambitious author who combines novel-writing with another job to pay the bills. Gary doesn’t like spending money on public transport. Anyway, what were you saying about Beatrix?’ ‘Oh, nothing much. She’s recently bought a Mazda MX-5.’ ‘Nice.’ ‘Don’t pretend you have any idea what that looks like.’ Our eyes smile.

‘What’s more, next week she’s moving into a penthouse flat overlooking the Thames. Her Instagram shots look amazing. It must have cost a packet.’ ‘She deserves it – but that doesn’t explain what you meant about her and younger men.’ Hugo runs a hand through his slicked back blonde hair. ‘Just another conspiracy theory. You know how publishing is full of them, like—’ ‘So what’s the theory about Beatrix Bingham?’ He shrugs. ‘It’s just… take John Bennett—’ ‘Who wrote the Earth Gazer series?’ ‘Yes. He’d just left university. They dated for six months.

’ He stares at the signing-in book once more. ‘Funny how she ditched him once the deal was signed.’ ‘Perhaps the relationship just came to its natural end. Or she felt their professional relationship was more important.’ ‘But then there was that young editor she dated who started out at Bloomsbury,’ he continued, warming to his subject. ‘All the books he worked on hit the Sunday Times List. He moved to Alpaca Books. Their romance ended shortly afterwards.’ ‘If you’re implying that she was able to just use… I mean, really… these are intelligent men.’ ‘Who partly think with their pants.

’ ‘Hugo. You can’t say this about her. And would she really take such risks? It’s a dangerous strategy that could so easily backfire.’ He shrugged. ‘And it’s slander apart from anything else. Beatrix’s form as an influential member of the industry should tell you that her editing skills are attractive enough.’ ‘I’m not denying that. Nor implying she’s falling back on womanly wiles. Really, I see her more as a ruthless player who’s in charge and will use any extra tools in her arsenal to cut the deal when required. If anything, I admire her.

’ ‘I still think—’ ‘Violet, this theory isn’t something I’ve created. Speculation has been rife for a while. And you’re right – it is dangerous, she should be more careful. Her reputation and professionalism could be at stake. There’s a difference between ambition and recklessness. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that if a younger man has got something she wants, Beatrix uses whatever assets she’s got to acquire it. Not that she’d stand a chance with Lenny, obviously – what with him dating one of the most genuine people I know.’ He gives me a good-humoured wink. ‘And Lenny is only an assistant. It’s not as if he’s got his hands on anything for her to chase, right?’ He answers the phone and I head back to the lift, glad he can’t see my face.

Chapter 3 I shuffle to get comfortable on the sofa, appreciating the soft velvet throw after an afternoon sitting on office chairs. I chose the yellow, terracotta and cream colour for furnishings to make our home look as cosy as possible, like it’s a summer afternoon all year around. Flossie is lying next to me and lifts her head. We exchange looks before she curls into a cinnamon swirl. The flat’s layout is simple with two decent-sized bedrooms. The main one has a modest balcony, a favourite spot even though it overlooks a busy road. There is just enough room for my window boxes and a line of washing. I gaze at the wall above my fireplace. To the right of the rectangular mirror is my cuckoo clock. Uncle Kevin the financial whizz gave it to me years ago after a business trip to Munich.

The wooden bird has just shot out to announce eight o’clock. I stroke Flossie’s back. She purrs and gives a shuddering stretch before her body pings back into a circle. I get up to check on Lenny’s favourite lasagne. The kitchen is small but I prefer it enclosed so that cooking smells don’t invade the living area. The tomato sauce is a bit dry now. It’s a shame Lenny couldn’t get home earlier, but he’s doing everything possible to be considered for promotion. His agency normally closes its doors at six, but over the last month he has signed several new authors and Lenny likes to show goodwill by putting in extra hours. I consider taking the dish out of the oven when a key turns in the lock. I open the oven door and put in the garlic bread before going back into the lounge.

‘That weather… I’m surprised the busses are still running.’ He takes off his black mackintosh and shakes it in the corridor before coming in. Lenny hangs it up on the coat stand to his left. The cold air has made his skin glow. His eyes sparkle. I head over and we embrace. If I ever have a bad day and get a sinking feeling, Lenny’s hugs are like buoys that keep me afloat. He wrinkles his nose. ‘Mmm. Beef.

Pasta.’ He squeezes me tight for a second. ‘You really are too good to me. I… I appreciate it.’ ‘Guess what’s for dessert.’ Nothing makes me feel better than making others happy. It started when I was old enough to look after Mum, in little ways, when she was working all hours. I did what I could to make her day easier, at first preparing straightforward meals like beans on toast. Eventually I progressed to omelettes. Mum was always so grateful and her worry lines became less deep if I also dusted or cleaned the bathroom.

‘Not chocolate tart?’ ‘Opportunity knocked last night, seeing as you were out all evening at that book launch.’ ‘And thanks for ironing me a shirt for today. I’ll just grab a really quick shower and then fetch your Valentine’s present.’ He disappears into our bedroom and comes back with a small gift bag. I don’t need to open it. He always gets me the same book voucher and milk chocolates for birthdays, Christmas and Valentine’s. It might not be the most imaginative gift, but it’s perfect for me. As promised, he’s ready ten minutes later and we sit down to eat. Lenny uncorks wine and I serve the food. I’ve decided to broach the subject of Beatrix but I’m not sure how.

It’s still hardly sunk in that my idol could potentially be after my boyfriend. He needs to know about Hugo’s claims and that she’ll do anything to acquire Alien Hearts. He’s on the cusp of becoming a fully-fledged agent and looking for that one big deal that will finally impress his agency. Lenny has been desperate for promotion. That makes him vulnerable to being exploited. He’s already secretly shown Beatrix the manuscript. If she tells anyone, that could jeopardise his professional integrity. His agency won’t want a partner who isn’t transparent. We eat the lasagne and playfully fight over the last chunk of garlic bread. After dessert we retire to the sofa. He pushes Flossie off and we snuggle up. ‘Beatrix’s imprint sounds interesting,’ I say. ‘Under her leadership it’s bound to be a huge success.’ Lenny removes his arm from around my shoulder and picks up his glass of wine. ‘She’s a very persuasive woman – and a hard worker.’ He clears his throat. ‘Sorry about lunch time. I think the build up to Out There Stories’ launch is taking its toll. I’m sure she didn’t mean to be rude.’ I pour myself another glass of wine. Lenny touches my hand and his face splits into a grin. ‘Two glasses? Violet? What’s going on?’ As our skin touches, I feel the familiar jolt of attraction. In physics, neutrality is a rather wonderful thing. It produces stability. It’s achieved through the attraction of opposites. Electrons and protons. Lenny and me. I run my finger around the rim. ‘Can I talk to you about something?’ ‘Everything okay?’ He puts down his wine and gives me his full attention. I tell him what Hugo said without revealing my source. Lenny shakes his head. ‘What absolute rubbish. Nothing but jealously spawns these rumours. You should know that.’ ‘I was surprised – but what other explanation is there?’ Since talking to Hugo, I’d thought of more examples. Like the debut science fiction author she was known to have dated and snatched from HarperCollins. Word got around that they’d offered him a generous advance and the industry was flummoxed when he signed with Alpaca Books. ‘Beatrix is at the top of her game,’ says Lenny. ‘She doesn’t need to trade on her good looks. She’d heard about Alien Hearts and became so excited when I told her more about the plot. She didn’t ask to see it, I offered. Beatrix is a complete professional. Showing her is no big deal. She’ll keep schtum.’ ‘You know she’s an absolute hero of mine. I just thought I ought to mention it. You’ve slogged hard to get this far and are on the verge of getting your own author list. I wouldn’t want to see your reputation questioned in any way if the agency found out you’d shown the manuscript around.’ He pushes up his sleeves. ‘If she’s got a track record of ensnaring younger men, why doesn’t she just go directly to Casey?’

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