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18 Devizes
Jan 25, '12
30

Chapter 18:

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Saturday dawned together with the first day of the summer cropcircle lectures in Devizes, Wiltshire, England. Lilly and I left Marlborough at 09:30hrs for the short 30 minute drive. The clouds rolled over the open landscape with intermittent bright bursts of sunlight and artistically cast light and shade on the surrounding ancient landscape. After 10 minutes journeying we passed Silbury Hill to the right of the A4. It triggered many Earth mother goddess images in my head and the enigmatic question; why did they build it? I knew from my own internal subconscious knowledge that the answer was simply religion. Somewhere to the right beyond lay Avebury stone circle the giant Neolithic cathedral of Northern Europe; I made a mental note to visit it as a pilgrimage before we returned to Lille on Monday night.

Next we passed the Wagon and Horses pub which looked straight out of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and could have doubled for the Prancing Pony at Bree, then came the Beckhampton roundabout where we took a left towards Devizes. The whole open landscape had a magnificent feeling of space, it was much more undulating than northern France but made of the same primeval ocean floor that created the dense layers of chalk that were common to both . I was conscious that many battles had been fought on this landscape from ancient times through to the English Civil War; perhaps emotional energy was somehow tied up with the cropcircles and the chalk down landscape; emotional memory had soaked into the very land and been preserved. It lay dormant just waiting for the same souls to trigger and bring forth its potent message into the present conscious mind.

Oliver’s Castle, Roundway Down, Bishops Cannings the names leapt out at me as I remembered the cropcircle images associated with those evocative names. The cropcircle connector archive had impressed itself deeply onto my subconscious and triggered many memories of many lives. I felt at home as though I was intimately connected to the very landscape itself. I knew that it was more a case of the land owned us rather than we owned the land. I could feel the truth of the statement in my bones made of the same chalk as the land.

All too soon we entered Devizes, with its castle like army barracks on the left and County Police Headquarters on the right it was a place of power in the landscape. I immediately felt the restriction of modern life close in on my esoteric thought. The magic fell away as I entered the town. I looked at Lilly and could see that she was still not quite awake and fully conscious. We travelled silently as she was just content to take the surrounding vista passively into her memory.

We then headed for the centre of town, passed a duck pond and came to a roundabout. Even the concentric rings painted on the road took on the feel of a cropcircle. Turning right we skirted the main town centre with its jammed up one way systems, people going about their mundane lives oblivious to the miraculous happenings in the fields that surrounded them and drove passed the Wadworth brewery. There we turned left into the market place. The car park was filling up but I managed to secure a space opposite the Bear hotel. From there it was just a short walk along to the Town Hall and the conference venue.

The doors were already open so we collected our tickets from the front desk. An attractive young girl with long blonde hair offered me a programme. She looked very like Karen Alexander so I guessed that it must be her daughter Kayleigh. We turned left into the downstairs hall to be greeted by a busy scene of chatter and excitement. To the right Steve Alexander had a large stall and was busy selling his latest photographs of the current season’s cropcircles, together with his year books and DVD’s from past seasons. The enigmatic images and the sublime geometric messages in the crop were everywhere to be seen. It was truly a feast for the soul.

Within 5 minutes an elven haired Karen ethereally entered the room and announced that delegates should take their seats in the Assembly Room above as the lecture programme would be starting shortly. I introduced Lilly and myself to Steve and chatted briefly as people started to make their way out of the room. Lilly said she would go on ahead and find a couple of seats for us whilst I finished talking.

After a few minutes I wished Steve bon chance and headed up the plush wide staircase to the Assembly Room above. A sense of history permeated the building much as it does in a palace. All around me were portraits of past Mayors, officials and civic dignitaries from Devizes. It was a deliberate display of tangible permanence yet here we were about to discuss a transient mystery of such a miraculous and ephemeral nature that seemed so diametrically opposed to the solid reality invoked by the building; the juxtaposition was quite exquisite!

I continued through the large stately doors where I was greeted by the elegant presence of Karen, her angelic long blonde hair perfectly framing her delicate porcelain features and smiling face.

“Welcome, you must be Yann Baillieu, I recognise you from your photo on the internet.”

I was slightly shocked but also pleasantly surprised; Karen had obviously looked at the La Voix du Nord website.

“Enchanté Madame Alexander, it is a pleasure to meet one so dedicated to this incredible phenomenon!”

“We are all very interested in the two recent French cropcircles that have appeared. I’ll introduce you to Michael later; he is just dying to know all the intricate details. Maybe you can come along to his party tonight?”

“I would be honoured to attend.” I said politely, “may I bring my colleague Lilly?”

“Of course you may, we would be delighted to meet her. I’ll give you the address late on.” Karen said in a no nonsense down to earth north-country English accent.

“Merci et bon chance!” I smiled and left her to greet more delegates who were trying to get in at the last moment.

Entering the room I looked around for Lilly, she was sat near the end of a row mid way in the auditorium, on my right. The room was now crowded and had a wonderful cosmopolitan atmosphere; I could hear many different languages and accents of English being spoken. I entered the row silently and took my seat next to Lilly. I had just started to make conversation when the lady in front of me turned around and said, “I do believe, I recognise that splendid accent!”

I immediately recognised her! It was Roselinde Saxonby, sat with Hilda to her left and Billy to her right.

“What a perfect coincidence!” I exclaimed.

“There is no such thing as a coincidence in the universe, it was meant to be.” She replied philosophically.

“Absolutely, I can’t believe that out of all the seats here, Lilly has placed me right behind you!”

Lilly smiled and joined in the conversation, “I had absolutely no idea it was you at all. I think it is, how you say, Karma.”

“To right, Dad - Lilly’s spot on!” Billy couldn’t resist commenting as it appealed to his esoteric nature and interest in Indian gurus and their insights. “It’s an example of the interconnectedness of all things as we navigate this holographic illusion we call reality; souls seek each other out to resolve past issues.”

Roselinde smiled an acknowledged that Billy’s insight was probably correct. At that moment Karen started to talk into her microphone and the audience hushed its conversation. She welcomed everybody and introduced the programme for the day. I was impressed at the sleek efficiency of the organisation and the professionalism she exuded.

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From her outline notes the speakers seemed to be presenting many thought provoking concepts based on first hand factual observation and detailed research. It was going to be a very interesting day! Yet, as I listened I found it very hard to concentrate for I was bathed in the vibrationary frequency of Lady Roselinde’s aura. There was something very royal about her that connected us together from the past.

Michael Glickman was the first speaker after the opening plenary session and delivered a tour de force of dry wit and incisive factual geometric information. The subject of cropcircles was dear to his heart and I felt that he more than any other living person in all humility projected a true vision on the depth and majesty of this miraculous phenomenon.

Next up was Andy Fowlds and Graham Tucker; it was nice to see a familiar face as we had met Andy as we returned from the East field the day before. They talked on the Kentish connection with cropcircles and Bluebell hill a local energy point situated on the North Downs between Rochester and Maidstone.

Midday came and we broke for lunch, Roselinde suggested that we head for the local Con Brio Cooks tea rooms around the corner from the town hall. Lilly, Hilda and Billy came too which gave the breadth of conversation more scope than I would have wished. I was closing in on my intuitive emotional memory and could narrow down the connection between Roselinde and myself to a limited number of possibilities.

The subject of Anglo-Saxon England arose and I had a very strong response to the Battle of Adam’s grave when it was mentioned. I suggested to Roselinde that we undertake an experiment that night after Michael’s party; fortunately she had been invited too so we made plans to visit Adam’s grave underneath the newly waning Moon at midnight.

I knew that I was only grasping the tip of a very large iceberg of connection between us but I felt an overwhelming urge to get to the root cause of such a powerful emotion. Roselinde confided in me that she too felt the same and therefore was intrigued to discover more

Having made our plans we settled the bill and returned to the conference. The other speakers were excellent and a whole new world opened up before us. The final talk of the day was by Jaime Maussan with details of the Mexican UFO presence. He was a hero of mine as I had been interested in the OVNI’s over Mexico since viewing the Messengers’ of Destiny video in 1991. I was thrilled to know that he was visiting Michael’s party so that I would have a chance to speak to him.

I wanted to know more about a possible connection between the UFO’s and the cropcircles, also as to whether he recognised the type of craft that we had captured on our photographs at Patay. I offered Roselinde, Hilda and Billy a lift in my car to the party at Horton, a small village situated on the back road through Pewsey Vale.

They graciously accepted and with that we all left together as Karen locked up for the night. Roselinde navigated without error and we soon found ourselves outside Michael’s cottage in Horton. Walking around the back following the noise we found the door wide open. Many people we had seen at the conference were there and everybody was in a chatty mood discussing the season’s events. Everybody seemed extremely friendly and many were obviously acquaintances having studied cropcircles together for nearly two decades.

Jaime was most interested in our photographs of Patay and confirmed that indeed the craft appeared to be similar to those photographed over Mexico City. He also conferred upon me a sense of urgency; that these events seemed to herald enormous Earth changes leading up to 2012. I could identify with that as I told him how I too could feel the acceleration in my own life with the timeslips that were happening.

Michael was a marvellous host as he held court like a wonderfully generous medieval monarch. He too was interested in our story and I left Lilly to fill him in on the details whilst I sought out Roselinde. The time quickly passed and we said our farewells as the clock approached midnight. The whole landscape seemed alive under the newly waning Moon as it lit up the sky and land below with a wondrous silver white glow.

The five of us drove along Pewsey vale passed Stanton St Bernard a tiny hamlet near Honey street. At the junction we turned left and wove our way up the side of Milk Hill to the Knap hill car park beyond. There we locked, and left the car. Then we headed across the road towards the peak of Adam’s grave on Walkers hill. The terrain was rough and the incline steep. I held Roselinde’s hand to prevent her stumbling but she was more than a match for the task. She seemed so familiar with the trail that she could have attempted it blindfold.

The earth works that supported the log palisade was still there to be seen even after 1400 years. As we crossed the outer ring ditch the well of lights appeared.

I held Roselinde’s hand tighter and looked into her face. I knew from her expression that she too could see them so together we turned towards the timeslip vortex and stepped into the circling orbs. The transition was instant and shocking as it was suddenly early morning daylight! The area was filled with dwellings and the royal hall sat on top of Adam’s grave. I could see exactly why its alternative name was Woden’s barrow.

Looking to the rear I could see the large shut wooden gates that barred the Lockeridge road. Either side there were watch towers with slumbering guards. The concentric rings of log fortification provided stout defence against attack as we had to zigzag left and right to enter each layer by its main gate. The dwellings within each layer consisted of long thatched huts each with a double horse head gable at either end. Smoke drifted lazily upwards from a central square hole in the middle of each roof. It was early morning and the whole royal encampment was barely awake. Only a few guards watched and chatted amongst themselves as they stood near the gateways. They were dressed in green tunics with copious amounts of brown leather and fur. Each had a green or brown shield with a white horse or some similar personalised emblem on its face. Helmets were few in number with the Phrygian cap being the most common head gear. Each carried a belted sax and a long 2.5 metre ash spear.

Roselinde walked with ease even though she was finely dressed in a deep green long dress clasped at the shoulders with a matching pair of fine filigree gold enamel brooches, by contrast her long blonde hair was plaited and soldier like. Gold thread was woven into every inch of her garment and on her wrist she wore a solid gold torc.

Each guard stood to attention and bowed his head as she approached; she acknowledged their salute with a cheery greeting in a guttural Anglo-Saxon dialect. I heard myself answering also in the same dialect. I knew that my name was Cuthwulf and that I was King Ceawlin’s youngest brother, as such I was the personal body guard and guardian to my niece Aelfwynn who was indeed Roselinde. She had grown into womanhood and was now some 20 summers old. I had taught her to ride and fight as a warrior. We had laughed together, cried together and I had watched her grow up into a fine princess. I felt a deep wave of love and protection sweep over me as I resurrected my subconscious memories; she was of the blood, my princess and I would gladly die for her.

Aelfwynn turned and smiled gently at me. The early morning sun suddenly crested the top of Golden Ball hill. The bright shards of its yellow light lit up her face and blonde hair with a lustrous glow. Just then all hell was let loose; several arrows zinged past us in the air and impaled themselves in the stockade wall with multiple thwacks. I instinctively threw her to the ground and covered her body with mine. An arrow hit my shield and penetrated its linden war board to protrude some 8 centimetres on the other side.

It was a major attack and we had been caught totally unawares. Several of the guards now ran to alert the slumbering warriors as others died where they were stood. Within seconds we heard the sound of several war horns blowing. Warriors rushed in all directions as confusion reigned, then came the deep shock and sense of betrayal; we were being attacked by our own Saxon cousins!

Ceol, Cutha’s son, our own King Ceawlin’s nephew led the surprise attack; it was an inside job! Several heavily armed thanes came across the ditch and running up towards us. I stood to face them with Aelfwynn behind me. I drew my sword and braced myself for the onslaught. Aelfwynn pushed past me and drew her sax. As they thrust at her with their spears I parried the blows with my shield and prevented their sharp vicious iron points from injuring her sacred royal body.

Like lightning she darted inside the ash hafts and stabbed at the bodies that held them fast. Blood spurted as her sharp sax found its mark. Yells and screams erupted all around as battle madness took hold. I lunged using my shield to knock over another two warriors who suddenly felt the wrath of my blade as I hacked into their fallen bodies.

Then I felt a searing pain blind my left eye as a spear found its mark. Death was prevented by the thick ridge of my left eyebrow which deflected and took the full force of the sharp spear point; blood ran from my eye socket and dripped onto my tunic. Aelfwynn ducked under the spear and thrust her sax deep into the warrior’s thorax. He screamed an involuntary howl of pain and fell to the ground where she administered the coup de grace with a swift thrust to the throat; blood spurted into the air and covered her green and gold dress.

There was nothing glorious in this deadly combat; it was a pure fight for survival. We retreated upwards towards the royal hall. With my good eye I could see that the shield wall had been formed and that it held for the moment. Above me I could see her father, my brother, Ceawlin descending to join the fray. “Protect my daughter at all costs!” He shouted, his face purple with rage, “Retreat as best you can, we’ll rally on Woodborough hill if we lose this one.”

My only concern at that moment was for Aelfwynn’s safety. Despite the pain we edged away from the fighting and around the base of the royal hall towards the back gate that over looked the East field.

Once through the gate we descended the steep escarpment to the pens below that held our horses. Aelfwynn saddled two sturdy ponies and led them to where I stood watching for the enemy to appear. Silently, she led them to the gate and we mounted, once through the gate we headed down the track into the wooded valley below.

The lights of the timeslip well appeared and we rode through them into darkness. I awoke lying on the hillside with Roselinde some metres from my side. I could see the stars high above me and the nearly full Moon which was passing to the west of our position indicating that it was well past 01:00hrs. Roselinde awoke and stood shakily. Finding her feet she made her way to my position.

“Are you OK?” She shouted.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” I replied.

“What the hell happened?” She said breathlessly.

“Welcome to my world! I assume you saw what I saw and experienced what I experienced? My eye still feels sore.”

Together we sat on the side of Adam’s grave as she quickly recounted her experience whilst the memory was still fresh. Indeed, she had lived through the exact same event and had experienced what I had experienced in graphic detail.

“I have named it a timeslip! We some how find ourselves mentally back reliving a personal memory from the past. This time it was without a doubt the battle of Adam’s grave in 592AD. The time and place triggered a common memory that we both share.”

“It was so real! I hate violence. Yet, I found myself doing indescribable things to other human beings. I killed people!” Roselinde was shaking visibly and her milk white skin looked even more pale than normal as was illuminated by the ghostly white light reflected from the Moon.

“They were other times, you were different; you were a former version of yourself. It was the inner warrior that lies beneath which surfaced and saved me on that fateful day. I owe you my life my princess!” I now realised the magnitude of the event and the supreme irony that the princess had saved her bodyguard from certain death. “My life is your life; I will have to repay that debt in some other time and some other place. We now know the connection between us; it is my weird. We have witnessed the bonds of time that bind us together.”

I put my arm around her and we lay back down on the hillside. She was suddenly a fragile woman again. A sense of warmth flowed through my body, her dragon energy fired up my system which then produced its own inner heat that I could share.

Several long minutes passed; then a disembodied voice shouted from above, “You alright, Dad? Have you seen the Ice Queen of Orleans?” It was Billy the Kid and he had a note of deep concern in his voice.

“We’re fine!” Roselinde shouted back, “Just took a tumble in the dark.”

His words echoed in my head as I realised what he had shouted; was it another of his amazingly psychic observations? My mind was in turmoil as it tried to figure it out.

Billy continued, “Cool, you had us worried, one minute we could see you then you disappeared from view. It’s a very steep hill this side.”

Roselinde and I picked ourselves up and dusted off the thistle down and bits of grass that adhered to our clothing. Luckily we had somehow missed the sheep excrement that littered the more gentle slopes of the hill. Roselinde laughed at my concern for such a very basic thing after the raw passion and excitement of being catapulted into a pitch battle nearly 1500 years previous.

Together we climbed back up the steep escarpment to the crest of Adam’s grave where we took shelter in a small hollow depression just short of the summit.

“What have you been up to Roselinde? Your hair looks a total mess!” Hilda pitched in with anxious concern for her wayward charge.

“I’m fine we just took a tumble through time; I’ll explain it all later, no harm done.” Roselinde replied in her extremely articulate and aristocratic voice. I waited to see if she would mention any further details but she didn’t so I remained silent.

Lilly knew what had happened though, she smiled at me from close up as she picked off pieces of gorse and the thistle down that had been missed from my neck area. “You can’t fool me, Yann Baillieu. One dragon princess always knows what another is thinking; it’s a sort of psychic sisterhood!” Although Lilly was speaking under her breath and in French I was aware that Roselinde knew exactly what Lilly was saying even though she was several paces away and engaged in conversation with her own entourage.

We then all sat huddled together observing the stars above and the valley below with its mighty East field shimmering in the Moonlight whilst each engaged in quiet conversation with their immediate neighbour.

I checked my mobile phone for the time and made a general comment to the others. “It’s quarter to two - we had better start getting back to the Barge in a moment.” My words fell on deaf ears as people were enjoying the moment.

Suddenly, I saw an intense bright red light appear to my right at the far end of the valley near Bishops Cannings. As it came nearer I could see clearly that at its centre it had a bright white magnesium flare like core which twinkled. “Hey, look what’s that?” I shouted to attract the others to the presence of the object.

“It’s probably an Army helicopter, Dad.” Billy said in an unconcerned voice. “They fly out of the Army Air Corp headquarters at Middle Wallop and buzz the cropcircles all the time. It’s probably on its way home after an exercise.”

Then as I watched it suddenly accelerated silently and travelled a good 2 or 3 kilometres to Stanton St Bernard. “That’s no helicopter I know of; did you see the way it moved?” I was extremely curious at the behaviour of the unknown object we were observing. Silently it continued and I could clearly see the whole valley floor lit up beneath it.

Then it came to the East field, “Shall I take a picture.” Lilly asked as she readied her camera for action. The incandescent unidentified flying object stopped and hovered.

“You might spook it, they can read our minds.” Billy said, “And nobody will believe us anyway; best just to be cool, watch and enjoy!”

As if on cue and knowing that it had an audience the object split into two piercingly bright lights. The magnesium star like centre hovered motionless in the sky whilst the strontium red part started to dance erratically around it! The whole valley lit up in an amazingly silent pyrotechnic display. The show continued for at least 5 minutes and I could see that it had attracted an audience from the several tents on Knap hill below. Finally the two lights came together into one object again and then dipped down into the East field, where upon it extinguished itself in the crop.

“Oh my goodness,” Hilda exclaimed, “That was amazing! Blessings’ be; it must be a sign from the circlemakers.”

“That was well cool, Dad!” Billy put his arm around me and gave me a hug.

“It definitely wasn’t a helicopter!” I said in total amazement.

“I got a picture of it just as it dropped!” Lilly exclaimed. “It’s definitely a real object. I’ve captured it on my camera.”

“The East field is a very special place. It was no accident my father built his royal hall overlooking it all those years ago.” Roselinde said in an ethereal voice as she gazed wistfully into the distance. Only I knew what she meant.

I squeezed her hand, “Time to go!” The air was turning damp and chilly as the temperature dropped; the dew point had been reached and the land was becoming sodden.

Due to gravity we found it much easier to walk down the hill back to the Knap hill car park. I could see that the place was alive with activity and I also noticed that a large white Ford transit van had parked sideways on next to my black Renault Laguna. The occupant was sat observing the East field form the side sliding door.

“Hey, it’s Cosmic Dave!” Billy shouted and waved from behind us. Hearing Billy’s yell the person in the van stood up and waved back. Billy ran ahead to chat with his friend. Several short minutes later we crossed the Lockeridge road and caught up.

“This is Cosmic Dave, Dad or Louis XV as we call him; what a coincidence!” Billy introduced him with a certain pride. He did look very French though with a dreadlock ponytail and the profile of a lanky 18th century aristocrat. I mentioned it to Billy who confirmed that that was exactly why they called him that! “We call him Louis XV or Cosmic Dave. He has a cottage in Brittany by the stones of Carnac and loves being there most of the year, when in England he lives in his white van and visits his mum in Gloucester. That’s how I know him!” Billy wanted us to know all about his friend and the French connection which was obviously a fine coincidence.

“Pleased to meet you, Sir!” I said as I shook hands with him.

“What’s Billy Bob been telling you?” Cosmic Dave said with a laconic smile.

“Nothing; so far as we have just met you!” I replied, Lilly, Roselinde and Hilda all shook hands with our new friend.

“I used to be a professional footballer, then a sound technician for the Tourists with Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart; that lasted 10 years. Then I worked for Iron Maiden but I fell off of a speaker stack in America and landed on my skull. Since then I have been, sort of retired; pleased to meet you all.”

I was amazed at how genteel and refined Cosmic Dave was. He told us of his interest in Earth lights, energies and the stone circles. Pointing to Adam’s grave he showed us the pale orange balls of light that came from within the hill and flew up into the sky.

“Ah, that’s why they call this hill to the left Golden Ball hill! It’s due to the earth energy lights.” I said aloud as I made the connection.

Cosmic Dave went on to explain about Earth energies and the world grid, the sighting of Avebury, Silbury Hill and Stonehenge, and their connection with UFOs for over 5000 years. It turned out that Avebury was situated exactly on the Michael and Mary line.

We dropped Roselinde, Hilda and Billy back at the Barge Inn and said our goodnights. Lilly and I went back to our hotel in Marlborough and finally got to sleep around 03:00hrs.

Day two of the conference was extremely interesting and all the speakers proved to be excellent. Steve’s cropcircle film of the season’s formations so far was breath taking and put them firmly into perspective as awesome harbingers of change. Even though I was relatively new to this phenomenon I could see the continuous progression from the early days some twenty years or more ago. Afterwards both Lilly and I attended the speakers’ dinner together with Roselinde, Hilda and Billy in the Italian Restaurant just over the road from the town hall which rounded of a most successful weekend.

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On Monday Roselinde and I walked the Avebury Ring. We joined the others for lunch at the Red Lion in the circle and then went to visit some of the nearby crop formations that had just formed, one at Morgan’s Hill, near Bishop Cannings from the day before which was an exquisite 4 symmetry pattern and a brand new one at Silbury Hill that sported a very unusual plaited centre.

At 18:00hrs we gathered together for a last meal at the Black Horse public house and coaching inn opposite the Cherhill white chalk horse on the A4. Not wishing to let go of the moment I intuitively asked Roselinde if she would like to visit Reims with Lilly and I the following week. I instinctively felt that there was as yet some unknown important reason for her to be there; time seemed to be closing in on our new found friendship and a sense of urgency overcame my normally reserved demeanour. It was quite unlike anything I had ever experienced before but I simply knew that Roselinde just had to be there.

We left the pub at 21:00hrs and stood together in a ring holding hands under the gaze of the white horse opposite. The orange sun was fast setting in the western sky and it seemed the natural time to depart. We hugged each other and kissed on both cheeks. I held Roselinde’s hand and made her promise to come to Reims. In my mind I had the twin images of two cathedrals, the Neolithic cathedral of Avebury from 4000 years ago and the mighty cathedral of Reims from 600 years ago; one sat inside the other conjoined by sacred energy, time and space.

As dusk fell we walked to the car, pulled out onto the A4 and headed back to Folkestone and the midnight Shuttle. An unexplained tear formed in my right eye, dropped t my cheek and fell silently to be absorbed on my chest.

Jan 25, '12
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