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Mary's Marriage Personal Appearance And Popularity

Mary The Queen Dauphiness The Queen And The Queen Dowager Of France

A Tangle

An Examination Of The Letters Sonnets And Other Writings Adduced In Evidence Against Mary Queen Of Scots

Occurrences Immediately Preceding Darnley's Death

The Little Waif

Paul's Walk



Mary's Birth And Subsequent Residence At The French Court

Least Viewed

Return To Scotland

The Bewitched Whistle

Hunting Down The Deer

My Lady's Remorse

The Love Token

Mary's Reception In England And The Conferences At York And Westminster

Queen Mary's Presence Chamber

Mary's Eighteen Years' Captivity

Before The Commissioners

Ten Years After

Bothwell's Seizure Of The Queen's Person And Subsequent Marriage To Her

Every thing appeared now to be going smoothly with Bothwell, and he had
only to take one step more to reach the very height of his ambition.
Mary's hand and Scotland's crown were the objects he had all along kept
steadily in view. The latter was to be obtained only through the medium of
the former, and hence his reason for removing Darnley, and willingly
submitting to a trial, from which he saw he would come off triumphantly.
The question he now anxiously asked himself was, whether it was likely
that Mary could be persuaded to accept him as a husband. He was aware,
that in the unsettled state of the country, she must feel that, unless
married to a person of strength and resolution, she would hardly be able
to keep her turbulent subjects in order; and he was of opinion, that it
was not improbable she would now cast her eyes upon one of her own
nobility, as she could no where else find a king who would be so agreeable
to the national prejudices. Yet he had a lurking consciousness, that he
himself would not be the object of her choice. She had of late, it was
true, given him a considerable share in the administration; but he felt
that she had done so, more as a matter of state policy, and to preserve a
balance of power between himself and her other ministers, than from any
personal regard. The most assiduous attentions which it was in his power
to pay her, had failed to kindle in her bosom any warmer sentiment; for
though she esteemed him for his fidelity as an officer of state, his
manners and habits as a man, were too coarse and dissolute to please one
of so much refinement, sensibility and gentleness, as Mary Stuart.
Bothwell therefore became secretly convinced that it would be necessary
for him to have recourse to fraud, and perhaps to force. Had Mary loved
him, their marriage would have been a matter of mutual agreement, and
would have taken place whenever circumstances seemed to make it mutually
advisable; but as it was, artifice and audacity were to be his weapons;
nor were they wielded by an unskilful hand.

The Parliament which met on the 14th of April 1567, continued to sit only
till the 19th of the same month; and on the evening of the following day,
Bothwell invited nearly all the Lords who were then in Edinburgh to a
great supper, in a tavern kept by a person of the name of Ainsly, from
which circumstance, the entertainment was afterwards known by the name of
"Ainsly's Supper." After plying his guests with wine, he produced a
document, which he had himself previously drawn up, and which he requested
them all to sign. It was in the form of a bond; and in the preamble,
after expressing their conviction that James Earl of Bothwell, Lord Hales,
Crichton, and Liddisdale, Great Admiral of Scotland, and Lieutenant to the
Queen over all the Marches, had been grossly slandered in being suspected
of having a share in the murder of Darnley, and that his innocence had
been fully and satisfactorily proved at his late trial, they bound
themselves, as they should answer to God, that whatever person or persons
should afterwards renew such calumniation, should be proceeded against by
them with all diligence and perseverance. After this introduction,
evidently meant to aid in removing any lingering suspicion which the Queen
might still entertain of Bothwell's guilt, the bond went on to state,
that, "Moreover, weighing and considering the present time, and how our
Sovereign, the Queen's Majesty, is destitute of a husband, in which
solitary state the common weal of this realm may not permit her Highness
to continue and endure, but at some time her Highness, in appearance, may
be inclined to yield unto a marriage,--therefore, in case the former
affectionate and hearty services of the said Earl (Bothwell), done to her
Majesty from time to time, and his other good qualities and behaviour, may
move her Majesty so far to humble herself as, preferring one of her own
native born subjects unto all foreign princes, to take to husband the said
Earl, we, and every one of us under subscribing, upon our honours and
fidelity, oblige ourselves, and promise, not only to further, advance, and
set forward the marriage to be solemnized and completed betwixt her
Highness and the said noble Lord, with our votes, counsel, fortification
and assistance, in word and deed, at such time as it shall please her
Majesty to think it convenient, and as soon as the laws shall permit it to
be done; but, in case any should presume, directly or indirectly, openly,
or under whatsoever colour or pretence, to hinder, hold back, or disturb
the same marriage, we shall, in that behalf, hold and repute the
hinderers, adversaries, or disturbers thereof, as our common enemies and
evil-willers; and notwithstanding the same, take part with, and fortify
the said Earl to the said marriage, so far as it may please our said
Sovereign Lady to allow; and therein shall spend and bestow our lives and
goods against all that live or die, as we shall answer to God, and upon
our own fidelities and conscience; and in case we do the contrary, never
to have reputation or credit in no time hereafter, but to be accounted
unworthy and faithless traitors."

This bond having been read and considered, all the nobles present, with
the exception of the Earl of Eglinton, who went away unperceived, put
their signatures to it. "Among the subscribers," says Robertson, "we find
some who were the Queen's chief confidents, others who were strangers to
her councils, and obnoxious to her displeasure; some who faithfully
adhered to her through all the vicissitudes of her fortune, and others who
became the principal authors of her sufferings; some passionately attached
to the Romish superstition, and others zealous advocates for the
Protestant faith. No common interest can be supposed to have united men of
such opposite interests and parties, in recommending to their Sovereign a
step so injurious to her honour, and so fatal to her peace. This strange
coalition was the effect of much artifice, and must be considered as the
boldest and most masterly stroke of Bothwell's address." It is, indeed,
impossible to conceive that such a bond was so numerously subscribed on
the mere impulse of the moment. Before obtaining so solemn a promise of
support from so many, he must have had recourse to numerous machinations,
and have brought into action a thousand interests. He must, in the first
place, have influenced Morton, his brother-in-law Huntly, Argyle, and
others; and having secured these, he would use them as agents to bring
over as many more. The rest, finding that so formidable a majority
approved of the bond, would not have the courage to stand out, for they
would fear the consequences if Bothwell ever became king. Among the names
attached to this bond are those of the Archbishop of St Andrews, the
Bishops of Aberdeen, Dumblane, Brechin, and Ross, the Earls of Huntly,
Argyle, Morton, Cassils, Sutherland, Errol, Crawfurd, Caithness, and
Rothes, and the Lords Boyd, Glamis, Ruthven, Semple, Herries, Ogilvie, and
Fleming. Here was an overwhelming and irresistible force, enlisted by
Bothwell in his support. The sincerity of many of the subscribers he
probably had good reason to doubt; but what he wanted was to be able to
present himself before Mary armed with an argument which she would find it
difficult to evade, and if she yielded to it, his object would be gained.
He was afraid, however, to lay the bond openly and fairly before her; he
dreaded that her aversion to a matrimonial connexion with him might weigh
more powerfully than even the almost unanimous recommendation of her
nobility. But having already gone so far, he was resolved that a woman's
will should not be any serious obstacle to his wishes.

The whole affair of the supper was, for a short time, kept concealed from
Mary; and though Bothwell's intentions and wishes began to be pretty
generally talked of throughout the country, she was the very last to hear
of them. When the Lord Herries ventured on one occasion to come upon the
subject with the Queen, and mentioned the report as one which had gained
considerable credit, "her Majesty marvelled," says Melville, "to hear of
such rumours without meaning, and said that there was no such thing in
her mind." Only a day or two after the bond was signed, she left
Edinburgh to visit the prince her son, who was then in the keeping of the
Earl of Mar at Stirling. Before she went, Bothwell ventured to express his
hopes to her, but she gave him an answer little agreeable to his ambition.
"The bond being once obtained," Mary afterwards wrote to France, "Bothwell
began afar off to discover his intention, and to essay if he might by
humble suit purchase our good will."--"But finding an answer nothing
correspondent to his desire, and casting from before his eyes all doubts
that men use commonly to revolve with themselves in similar
enterprises,--the backwardness of our own mind--the persuasions which our
friends or his enemies might cast out for his hindrance--the change of
their minds whose consent he had already obtained, with many other
incidents which might occur to frustrate him of his expectation,--he
resolved with himself to follow forth his good fortune, and, all respect
laid apart, either to tine all in one hour, or to bring to pass that thing
he had taken in hand." This is a clear and strong statement,
describing exactly the feelings both of Bothwell and Mary at this period.

The Earl did not long dally on the brink of his fate. Ascertaining that
Mary was to return from Stirling on the 24th, he left Edinburgh with a
force of nearly 1000 men well mounted, under the pretence of proceeding
to quell some riots on the Borders. But he had only gone a few miles
southward, when he turned suddenly to the west, and riding with all speed
to Linlithgow, waited for Mary at a bridge over the Almond about a mile
from that town. The Queen soon made her appearance with a small train,
which was easily overpowered, and which indeed did not venture to offer
any resistance. The Earl of Huntly, Secretary Maitland, and Sir James
Melville, were the only persons of rank who were with the Queen; and they
were carried captive along with her; but the rest of her attendants were
dismissed. Bothwell himself seized the bridle of Mary's horse, and turning
off the road to Edinburgh, conducted her with all speed to his Castle at

The leading features of this forcible abduction, or ravishment, as it is
commonly called by the Scottish historians, have been greatly
misrepresented by Robertson and Laing. Both of these writers mention, as a
matter of surprise, that Mary yielded without struggle or regret, to the
insult thus offered her. That she yielded without struggle,--that is to
say, without any attempt at physical resistance, is exceedingly probable;
for when was a party of a dozen persons, riding without suspicion of
danger, able to offer resistance to a thousand armed troopers? There is
little wonder that they were surrounded and carried off, "without
opposition," as Laing expresses it; for by a thousand soldiers, a dozen
Sir William Wallaces would have been made prisoners "without opposition."
But the very number which Bothwell brought with him, and which even Mary's
worst enemies allow was not less than six hundred, proves that there was
no collusion between him and the Queen. Had it been only a pretended
violence, to afford a decent excuse for Mary's subsequent conduct, fifty
horsemen would have done as well as a thousand; but Bothwell knew the
Queen's spirit, and the danger of the attempt, and came prepared
accordingly. But it is urged, that, if displeased, she must have expressed
her resentment to those who were near her. And there is certainly no
reason to suppose that she was silent, though neither Huntly nor
Lethington would be much influenced by her complaints, for they had both
secretly attached themselves to Bothwell. Sir James Melville, who was more
faithful to the Queen, was dismissed from Dunbar the day after her
capture, lest she should have employed him to solicit aid for her relief,
as she had formerly done on the occasion of the murder of Rizzio. Mary
herself, in the letter already quoted, sets the matter beyond dispute, for
she there gives a long and interesting detail, both of her own
indignation, and of the arts used by Bothwell to appease it. Nothing,
indeed, can be more contrary to reason, than to suppose this abduction a
mere device, mutually arranged to deceive the country. If Mary had really
loved Bothwell and was anxious to marry him, it would have been the very
last thing she would have wished to be believed, whether she thought him
guilty of Darnley's murder or not, that she gave him her hand, after he
had been publicly acquitted, and all her principal nobility had declared
in his favour, only in consequence of a treasonable act, committed by him
against her person. If she hoped to live in peace and happiness with him,
why should she have allowed it to be supposed, that she acted from
necessity, rather than from choice, or that she yielded to a seducer, what
she would not give to a faithful subject? This pre-arranged ravishment,
would evidently defeat its own purpose, and would serve as a pretence
suggested by Mary herself, for every malcontent in Scotland to take up
arms against her and Bothwell. It was a contrivance directly opposed to
all sound policy, and certainly very unlike the open and straight-forward
manner in which she usually went about the accomplishment of a favourite
purpose. "But one object of the seizure," says Laing, "was the vindication
of her precipitate marriage." Where was the necessity for a precipitate
marriage at all? Was Mary so eager to become the wife of Bothwell, with
whom, according to the veracious Buchanan, she had long been indulging an
illicit intercourse, that she could not wait the time required by common
decency to wear her widow's garb for Darnley? Was he barbarously murdered
by her consent on the 9th of February, on the express condition that she
was to have Bothwell in her arms as her husband on the 15th of May? Was
she, indeed, so entirely lost to every sense of female delicacy and
public shame,--so utterly dead to her own interests and reputation,--or so
very scrupulous about continuing a little longer her unlicensed amours,
that, rather than suffer the delay of a few months, she would thus run the
risk of involving herself in eternal infamy? Even supposing that she was
perfectly assured the artifice would remain undiscovered,--was her
conscience so hardened, her feelings so abandoned, and her reason so
perverted, as to enable her to anticipate gratification from a marriage
thus hastily concluded, with so little queenly dignity, or female modesty,
and with a man who was not yet divorced from his own wife? There is but
one answer which can be given to these questions, and that answer comes
instinctively to the lips, from every generous heart, and well-regulated

For ten days Bothwell kept Mary in Dunbar "sequestrated," in her own
words, "from the company of all her servants, and others of whom she might
have asked counsel, and seeing those upon whose counsel and fidelity she
had before depended, already yielded to his appetite, and so left alone,
as it were, a prey to him." Closely shut up as she was, she long
hoped that some of her more loyal nobles would exert themselves to procure
her deliverance. But not one of them stirred in her behalf, for Bothwell
was at this time dreaded or courted by all of them, and finding the person
of the Queen thus left at his disposal, he did not hesitate to declare to
her, that he would make her his wife, "who would, or who would not,--yea,
whether she would herself or not." Mary, in reply, charged him with
the foulest ingratitude; and his conduct, she told him, grieved her the
more, because he was one "of whom she doubted less than of any subject she
had." But he was not now to be driven from his purpose. He spent his
whole time with Mary; and his whole conversation was directed to the one
great object he had in view. He called to his aid every variety of
passion; sometimes flinging himself at her feet, and imploring her to
pardon a deed which the violence of his love had made imperative; and, at
other times, giving vent to a storm of rage, and threatening dishonour,
imprisonment, and death, if she hesitated longer to comply with his
demands. Mary herself is the best chronicler of these distracting scenes,
although it must be observed, that she did not write of them till Bothwell
had achieved his purpose; and consequently, making a virtue of necessity,
she was anxious to place them in as favourable a point of view as
possible. "Being at Dunbar," she says, "we reproached him the honour he
had to be so esteemed of us, the favour we had always shewn him, his
ingratitude, with all other remonstrances which might serve to rid us out
of his hands. Albeit we found his doing rude, yet were his answer and
words but gentle, that he would honour and serve us, and would noways
offend us, asking pardon of the boldness he had taken to convoy us to one
of our own houses, whereunto he was driven by force, as well as
constrained by love, the vehemency whereof had made him to set apart the
reverence, which naturally, as our subject, he bore to us, as also for
safety of his own life. And then began to make us a discourse of his whole
life, how unfortunate he had been to find men his unfriends whom he had
never offended; how their malice never ceased to assault him on all
occasions, albeit unjustly; what calumnies they had spread of him,
touching the odious violence perpetrated in the person of the King our
late husband; how unable he was to save himself from the conspiracies of
his enemies, whom he could not know by reason that every man professed
himself outwardly to be his friend; and yet he found such hidden malice
that he could not find himself in surety, unless he were insured of our
favour to endure without alteration; and on no other assurance of our
favour could he rely, unless it would please us to do him that honour to
take him to husband, protesting always that he would seek no other
sovereignty but as formerly, to serve and obey us all the days of our
life; joining thereunto all the honest language that could be used in such
a case." But these arguments were of no avail, and he was obliged to
go a step farther. "When he saw us like to reject all his suit and
offers," says Mary, "in the end he shewed us how far he had proceeded with
our whole nobility and principals of our estates, and what they had
promised him under their handwriting. If we had cause then to be
astonished, we leave to the judgment of the King and Queen, (of France),
our uncle, and our other friends." "Many things we resolved with ourself,
but never could find an outgait (deliverance); and yet he gave us little
space to meditate with ourself, ever pressing us with continual and
importunate suit." "As by a bravade in the beginning, he had won the first
point, so ceased he never till, by persuasions and importunate suit,
accompanied not the less with force, he has finally driven us to end the
work begun, at such time, and in such form, as he thought might best serve
his turn; wherein we cannot dissemble that he has used us otherwise than
we would have wished, or yet have deserved at his hand; having more
respect to content them, by whose consent granted to him beforehand, he
thinks he has obtained his purpose, than regarding our contentation, or
weighing what was convenient for us."

Bothwell had kept Mary at Dunbar for nearly a week, when, in order to
make it be believed that her residence there was voluntary, he ventured to
call together a few of the Lords of the Privy Council on whom he could
depend, and on the 29th of April there was one unimportant act of Council
passed, concerning provisions for the Royal Household. From the influence
he at that time possessed over the Scottish nobles, Bothwell might have
held a Privy Council every day at Dunbar, and whether he allowed the
Queen, pro forma, to be present or not, nobody would have objected to
any thing he proposed. In the meantime, mutual actions of divorce were
raised by Bothwell and his wife, the Lady Jane Gordon, and being hurried
through the courts, only a few days elapsed before they were obtained.
This is another circumstance which tends to prove, that Bothwell's seizure
of Mary was not collusive; for had it been so, she would certainly never
have allowed it to take place till these actions had been decided.

The die was now cast; Mary was in Bothwell's fangs, and her ruin was
completed. On the 3d of May 1567, he thought it expedient to conduct her,
closely guarded, from Dunbar to the Castle of Edinburgh. When they came
near the town, he desired his followers to conceal their arms, lest it
should be supposed that he was still keeping the Queen an unwilling
prisoner. But the truth broke out in spite of his precautions; for at the
foot of the Canongate, Mary was about to turn her horse towards Holyrood,
upon which Bothwell himself seized the bridle, and conducted her up the
High Street to the Castle, which was then in the keeping of Sir James
Balfour, who was entirely subservient to Bothwell. He was now resolved
that his marriage should be consummated with as little delay as possible,
having wrung a consent to it from the unfortunate Queen, by means of
which, it is impossible to think without shuddering. In the state to which
she was reduced, she had no alternative; she chose the least of two evils,
in becoming, with an aching heart, the wife of her ravisher. Yet it would
appear, that she did not herself take a single step to advance the matter.
Three days after she arrived at the Castle, a person of the name of Thomas
Hepburn, (probably a relation of the Hepburn who was engaged with Bothwell
in Darnley's murder), was sent to Craig, Knox's colleague in the church of
St Giles, to desire that he would proclaim the banns of matrimony betwixt
the Queen and Bothwell. But the clergyman refused, because Hepburn brought
no authority from the Queen. Neither Mary nor Bothwell were so
ignorant as to suppose that any minister would publish banns without
receiving a written or personal order; and Hepburn would hardly have been
sent on so idle an errand, had not the Queen been still reluctant to
surrender herself to one whose person and manners she had never liked, and
who was now so odious to her. But not a voice was raised,--not a sword was
drawn to protect her,--and what resource was left? In a day or two, the
Lord Justice Clerk conveyed a written mandate to Craig; but the preacher,
had still some scruples: not thinking such a marriage agreeable to the
laws either of God or man, he insisted upon seeing the Queen and Bothwell,
before he gave intimation of it. He was admitted to a meeting of the Privy
Council, where Bothwell presided, but at which Mary does not seem to have
been present. "In the Council," says Craig, "I laid to his charge the law
of adultery, the ordinance of the kirk, the law of ravishing, the
suspicion of collusion betwixt him and his wife, the sudden divorcement
and proclaiming within the space of four days, and lastly, the suspicion
of the King's death, which his marriage would confirm; but he answered
nothing to my satisfaction."--"Therefore, upon Sunday, after I had
declared what they had done, and how they would proceed, whether we would
or not, I took heaven and earth to witness, that I abhorred and detested
that marriage, because it was odious and scandalous to the world; and
seeing the best part of the realm did approve it, either by flattery or
by their silence, I desired the faithful to pray earnestly, that God
would turn it to the comfort of this realm."

It was not till after the banns had been twice proclaimed, that Bothwell
allowed the Queen, on the 12th of May, to come forth from the Castle for
the first time. He conducted her himself to the Court of Session, where he
persuaded her to affix her signature to two deeds of great importance to
him. The bond he had obtained from the nobles, recommending him as a
husband to the Queen, has been already fully described; but when the Lords
put their names to it, they were not aware that Bothwell would, in
consequence, conceive himself entitled to have recourse to violence; and
they now became alarmed lest the Queen should imagine that they were
themselves implicated in an act which many of them, though they did not
yet venture to express their sentiments, viewed with disgust. By way of
precaution, therefore, they required Bothwell to obtain, from her Majesty,
a written promise, that she would not at any time hereafter impute to them
as a crime the consent they had given to the bond. Here is another
argument against the idea of collusion between Mary and Bothwell; for in
that case, so far from having any thing to fear, Bothwell's friends would
have known that nothing could have recommended them more to Mary, than the

countenance they gave his marriage; and if, for the sake of appearances,
she wished it to be believed that she was forced into it, she would
certainly have carefully avoided recording her approval of the previous
encouragement given to Bothwell by her nobility. Mary's calumniators are
thus placed between the horns of a dilemma. If she did not consent to the
abduction, then the marriage was not one of her choice; if she did, then
why defeat the only object she had in view, which was to deceive her
subjects, by publicly declaring that the Lords who signed the bond had
done nothing to displease her? and why, moreover, should such a
declaration have been thought necessary, either by Bothwell or his
friends? The deed which Mary signed in the Court of Session, and which,
taking this view of it, is worthy of every attention, was subjoined to a
copy of the bond, and expressed in these words: "The Queen's Majesty
having seen and considered the bond above written, promises, on the word
of a Princess, that she, nor her successors, shall never impute as crime
or offence, to any of the persons subscribers thereof, their consent and
subscription to the matter above written therein contained; nor that they
nor their heirs shall never be called nor accused therefor; nor yet shall
the said consent or subscribing be any derogation or spot to their honour,
or they esteemed undutiful subjects for doing thereof, notwithstanding
whatever thing can tend or be alleged in the contrary. In witness whereof,
her Majesty has subscribed the same with her own hand."

On the same day, Mary granted a formal pardon to Bothwell, before all the
Lords of Session and others, for his late conduct, in taking her to, and
holding her in Dunbar, "contrary to her Majesty's will and mind," which is
also very much against the supposition of collusion. It states,--"That
albeit her Highness was commoved for the present time of her taking at the
said Earl Bothwell; yet for his good behaviour, and thankful service in
time past, and for more thankful service in time coming, her Highness
stands content with the said Earl, and has forgiven and forgives him, and
all others his accomplices, being with him in company at the time, all
hatred conceived by her Majesty, for the taking and imprisoning of her, at
the time foresaid."

All these preparations having been made, Mary at length became the wife of
Bothwell, after he had been previously created Duke of Orkney. Even in the
celebration of the marriage ceremony, the despotic power which Bothwell
now exercised over the unhappy and passive Queen, is but too evident. She,
who had never before failed in a single instance, to observe the rites of
her own faith, however tolerant she was to those who professed a different
persuasion, was now obliged, in opposition to all the prejudices of
education, and all the principles of her religion, to submit to be married
according to the form of the Protestant church. Adam Bothwell, Bishop of
Orkney, who, though holding an Episcopal order, had lately renounced that
heresy, and joined the Reformers, presided on the occasion. The marriage
took place, not at mass in the Queen's chapel, but in the Council Chamber,
where, after a sermon had been delivered, the company separated, with
little demonstrations of mirth. Melville, who came to Court the same
evening, mentions some particulars, which show how the dissolute Bothwell
chose to spend his time:--"When I came to the Court," he says, "I found my
Lord Duke of Orkney, sitting at his supper. He said I had been a great
stranger, desiring me to sit down and sup with him. The Earl of Huntly,
the Justice-Clerk, and diverse others, were sitting at the table with him.
I said that I had already supped. Then he called for a cup of wine, and
drank to me, that I might pledge him like a Dutchman. He made me drink it
out to grow fatter, 'for,' said he, 'the zeal of the commonweal has eaten
ye up, and made ye lean.' I answered, that every little member should
serve to some use; but that the care of the commonweal appertained most to
him, and the rest of the nobility, who should be as fathers to it. Then he
said, I well knew he would find a pin for every bore. Then he discoursed
of gentlewomen, speaking such filthy language, that I left him, and passed
up to the Queen, who was very glad at my coming."

Such was the man who was now inseparably joined to Mary, and who, by fraud
and villany, had made himself, for the time, so absolute in Scotland, that
her possession of the throne of her ancestors, nay, her very life, seems
to have depended upon his will and pleasure.

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Previous: Bothwell's Trial And Acquittal

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