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Aphrodite Takes a Holiday

Aphrodite Takes a Holiday

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Aphrodite Takes a Holiday

402 Seiten
5 Stunden
Oct 30, 2019


Aphrodite lives on the beautiful and remote Greek island of Kythnos. Her peaceful existence is disturbed when an aloof English woman, Grace, comes to live in her village. Grace finds life in Kythnos an ordeal and struggles to fit in. Despite the clash of cultures, the women become good friends, working together in Aphrodite's taverna. Following a series of catastrophes, Grace leaves Kythnos to help her nephew with his hotel in Cornwall, where life proves even more challenging. Aphrodite knows Grace is unhappy in Cornwall, but she's never left her home in Kythnos before. However, when she is unexpectedly given the means to visit Grace for the Christmas holiday, she agrees to go and vows not to return without her friend. However, Aphrodite's task proves problematic, and she discovers that life outside the haven of her island is full of strange and unusual people who present her with a series of challenges that make her resolve never to take another holiday.
Oct 30, 2019

Über den Autor

Florence Rosselle was born in Lancashire (5th August 1959). She developed wanderlust in her mid-twenties and has lived in the Scottish Highlands, Cornwall, Italy, and Greece. She has now settled in the Lake District and divides her time between her home there and the island of Crete, where she has a holiday home. She is married with two grown-up children.


Aphrodite Takes a Holiday - Florence Rosselle


About the Author

Florence Rosselle was born in Lancashire (5th August 1959). She developed wanderlust in her mid-twenties and has lived in the Scottish Highlands, Cornwall, Italy, and Greece. She has now settled in the Lake District and divides her time between her home there and the island of Crete, where she has a holiday home. She is married with two grown-up children.

About the Book

Aphrodite lives on the beautiful and remote Greek island of Kythnos. Her peaceful existence is disturbed when an aloof English woman, Grace, comes to live in her village. Grace finds life in Kythnos an ordeal and struggles to fit in. Despite the clash of cultures, the women become good friends, working together in Aphrodite’s taverna. Following a series of catastrophes, Grace leaves Kythnos to help her nephew with his hotel in Cornwall, where life proves even more challenging. Aphrodite knows Grace is unhappy in Cornwall, but she’s never left her home in Kythnos before. However, when she is unexpectedly given the means to visit Grace for the Christmas holiday, she agrees to go and vows not to return without her friend. However, Aphrodite’s task proves problematic, and she discovers that life outside the haven of her island is full of strange and unusual people who present her with a series of challenges that make her resolve never to take another holiday.


To Colin

Copyright Information

Copyright © Florence Rosselle (2019)

The right of Florence Rosselle to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528962261 (ePub e-book)

First Published (2019)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf


E14 5LQ

Chapter 1

18 months ago – June 2012

The invitation came out of the blue. After a few guarded conversations in broken Greek and English, Aphrodite took a huge risk and invited ‘The English Woman’ on her annual pilgrimage to the festival of the Prophet Ilias. Not because she liked her, but because she was curious. And despite risking the wrath of Vassilis, she was determined for once to do as she pleased. It would involve considerable planning because Vassilis kept her on a very tight rein. She contemplated her plan as her fingers sought out the throbbing lump at the side of her temple. It was, as always, hidden from view. This time by her hair. He always knew where to hit and make it count. The pulsating black and blue lump was a stark reminder that she was risking a lot worse than the last beating. But she was curious. The English woman, Grace, was different. Quite different to anyone she had met in her life before. Aphrodite enjoyed watching her, going about her business in the village. She was such a complete contrast to her; and yes, she was interesting, in a snooty, English kind of way. And so Aphrodite, disillusioned with her life, made her decision. It was worth the risk. Worth the potential pain to get to know this woman with the perfect life that was the complete opposite of hers. A life that she wanted.

Despite her outwardly controlling and haughty demeanour, Grace felt particularly desolate the day the invitation came from the strange Greek woman. She was oblivious to the glorious sunshine as she stood on the perfect crescent of beautiful, white sand that made up her local beach. She barely registered the gentle, rhythmic lapping of the crystal clear water as it washed over her bare feet. Grace was angry. She paced to and fro, muttering to herself, wondering how she could have been so stupid to believe Bob again. He was such a bastard. Her rumination was interrupted by the sight of the strange Greek woman, who ran the local taverna with her husband. Grace recalled that she’d once mumbled to her that her name was Aphrodite.

Now, the woman was scuttling along the beach, from the direction of the taverna, looking in a similarly unhappy frame of mind and wearing a similarly cross expression. Both women’s mood visibly brightened on seeing the other; each a little curious about the kind of life the other led and whether it was slightly or significantly better than her own.

It was a meeting of opposites in every respect. And an interesting diversion for the many onlookers, who pretended to go about their daily business. The women, both in their early 50s, were very different. The small, stocky Greek woman wearing the traditional village black, sported a mop of unkempt black hair. She wore no make-up and her rough working hands were a good indicator of her life of hard work. She wore a tatty pair of ancient flip-flops that made her look a good six-inches shorter, and several pounds heavier than the other woman, who, by contrast, wore expensive designer clothes. Her stylish hair and make-up must have cost more to maintain in a day than the local woman spent in a year. Aphrodite imagined that she must have fallen straight off the pages of a glossy fashion magazine and landed right there, on the beach.

The heat of the mid-summer sun beat down on their bare heads; midday was scorching hot in mid-June. Oblivious to the raging heat, their shared laughter quickly floated away on the wind and caught the attention of the local fishermen, who sat in the hot sun, mending their nets. The local priest spotted them as he cycled along the coast path; he smiled. They looked happy to see each other and their dramatic arm movements, as they attempted to communicate, made him smile a bit more. It seemed strange to the local women, scattered about the village with their heads bent to their work, tending their goats or vegetables or cleaning fish, that Aphrodite, of all people, was chatting to the foreigner. She spoke little English, and they knew that the woman was English and spoke very little Greek. They also knew Aphrodite, who had never before expressed any interest in anything foreign. Indeed, she had never, in her whole life, either left or expressed a desire to leave the village. And so they were mildly intrigued to hear the shared laughter tinkling on the wind and witness first-hand the gestures and body language of two complete strangers, getting to know each other, without actually having a conversation.

An hour or so later, the two women could be seen sitting on the harbour wall, swinging their legs and roaring with laughter. A small crowd gathered, drawn from their labours in the midday heat, to witness for themselves the unusual happening in their tiny village. What, they wondered, had happened to Aphrodite? Who never had a kind word, or smile, for anyone; even for the customers at her husband’s taverna.

Eventually, the women said their goodbyes. Grace in basic tourist-book Greek, and Aphrodite with smiles, nods, frantic arm waving and the occasional ‘very good’ and reluctantly made their way to their respective homes. Occasionally glancing over a shoulder at the other, trudging grudgingly in the opposite direction. Now, firm friends, each had gleaned a basic understanding of the other; although neither revealed their own personal tragedy of not having chosen well in the relationship department. It was somehow understood by the other, and neither of them needed it reinforcing.

Best then, they agreed to make their arrangements independent of their husbands and enjoy an outing without them. And so, Aphrodite had brazenly stuck her neck out and invited Grace to the following day’s celebrations for the Prophet Ilias; the patron saint of the village. Grace tentatively accepted. She hardly knew the woman, but she liked her, and friends were thin on the ground here, in her new home in Greece. At the time, she hadn’t comprehended the tremendous honour bestowed on her by her new friend, who was risking more than a beating by striking up a friendship with anyone, let alone the invading foreigner.

Chapter 2

Grace assumed the celebrations would take place at the small whitewashed church dedicated to Saint George. That sat, solemnly, under the magnificent plane tree, dominating the centre of the tiny village of Kythnos where they lived. She’d understood the word church and not a lot else, but she’d been keen to chat with the fascinating woman again and so eagerly agreed to go.

Yes, of course! Grace said, with a nod and a smile, conveying all Aphrodite needed to set her bid for a day’s freedom into action. Subterfuge would be necessary to fulfil her promise to take the lovely lady, with the lovely clothes and immaculate nails, to the magnificent celebration at the tiny church. Not in the village square, but high in the mountains that loomed up behind Kythnos. Aphrodite smiled. She would enjoy showing off her lovely village and its people; and the shy woman, who had so far failed to make any friends, would make many. Aphrodite was excited at the prospect of making one.

Grace sauntered along the coastal path that ran along the beach from the villa, she shared with Bob, to the centre of the tiny village. It was late afternoon, and a heat haze shimmered off the tarmac road. It would be good to have a day to herself, she thought. It was becoming increasingly clear to her how selfish and self-centred Bob was. Nowadays, he barely seemed to open his mouth without some demand or complaint coming out of it. His voice seemed to have adopted a high-pitch nasal whine. Maybe it was her imagination. Anyway, the prospect of a break from him was enticing.

Perched high on the hill, the pretty whitewashed villa, that was her home, had a beautiful view of the village and the beach. The pace of life here was slow, languid even, and so it was unusual to see the hive of activity in the village below her. Her gaze moved to the little whitewashed church that sat at the centre of the village. It was there she assumed the celebrations would take place. Nothing was happening there at all. Instead, a steady procession of vehicles. Mopeds, tractors, pickups and delivery vans noisily made their way out of the village. The slow procession was moving up the mountain road in the opposite direction, suggesting the celebrations were taking place elsewhere. Grace hadn’t, in the four weeks she’d lived in Kythnos, even realised there was a road up the mountain. She slowed her pace so that her eyes could trace the route the procession was taking, then stopped for a moment and squinted. The brightly coloured mechanical snake culminated at a clump of bright lights. They shone like a beacon from the top of the tallest mountain in the range.

God, that’s a long way up! she said aloud. The tip of the mountain seemed to have pushed through the canopy of cypress trees and rose up in a protective arc behind the village. Realisation dawned on her and a shiver of fear ran down her spine. Heights were not her favourite thing. Shrugging off her irrational fear, she recommenced her decent to the taverna, where she was to meet Aphrodite.

Why should she worry? Her new friend had bigger problems. Grace had the impression that Vassilis, Aphrodite’s husband, made life very difficult for her. It pricked Grace’s conscience that by agreeing to go on the trip, she might have caused a heap of trouble for her friend. The last thing she wanted was to earn her another beating, and she might if she provoked the wrath of her husband.

The small Greek woman was waiting for her as she passed the harbour wall and greeted her with the customary hug and kiss on either cheek. Grace brightened when she realised that Aphrodite was as excited as she was about the planned outing. But, she knew that she must give her the opportunity to withdraw the invitation. Husband not angry? she asked, attempting to emphasise her point by making an angry face and pointing in the direction of the taverna. She hoped that her new friend understood that she was giving her the opportunity to change her mind.

Aphrodite laughed it off, slapping Grace enthusiastically on the back, and guffawing loudly. She told her, No angry, she said, wrinkling her brown nose and following it up with, No tell! She looked happy and excited as she gave Grace an enormous toothy grin, displaying a perfect gap in the middle of her brilliant white teeth. Him fish, he not know, she told her, slapping her on the back again with gusto. Ha-ha-ha. He not know!

Well, Grace hoped for her sake that, he not know, she thought, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Aphrodite was playing with fire; and although she seemed to be happy to be risking a beating, Grace wasn’t so sure that she wanted to be personally responsible for it. Today, she appeared to be bruise-free, and Grace would like it to stay that way. The last thing Grace wanted was for her to get another set because of her. Looking into Aphrodite’s face searchingly, she asked, You sure?

Aphrodite shrugged. She looked sadly at Grace, giving her a wry smile. He hit any way! she said quietly. It pained Grace to see the look of sad resignation in her eyes. She was sorry she’d like to help, but what could she do? Go wait, Aphrodite told her brusquely, pointing to the gnarled olive tree that leant heavily against far side of the taverna, He no see!

It amused Grace that Aphrodite could be so cunning despite the risks. And she watched with awe as the small, determined woman quietly loaded her pickup with provisions and locked up the taverna. Her husband worked, not many yards away, oblivious to her preparations as he made his own, loading the brightly coloured fishing boat that was tied up in the tiny harbour. Like Aphrodite said, he was going fishing.

Grace couldn’t help but admire the cheerful woman, whistling as she worked, all the while keeping a wary eye on the big miserable-looking man, with a physique that would match any boxing champion. His deeply lined face had a look of weariness that made him appear to be weighed down by the worries of the world. In contrast, the tiny Greek woman with the short legs and ample bosom was his alter ego. While she smiled and launched herself into her chores, he kept his eyes on the ground and slowly but solemnly performed his tasks.

Grace’s feelings intensified as she watched them. She never usually took such an instant dislike to a person, but she had already decided that this horrible man was the same on the inside as the outside. Bad. Watching his every move, she was ready to distract him if he cottoned on to Aphrodite’s activities. Her nerves were on edge, but she felt elated when she realised that he was oblivious to his wife’s cunning and deception. It prompted her to giggle, like a silly schoolgirl. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on him until his boat chugged out through the harbour walls. She needn’t have worried. He never gave so much as a backwards glance. Grace’s giggle descended into full-blown laughter as she watched the brightly coloured fishing boat disappear around the headland, before she crept from her hiding place behind the old olive tree. Grace sauntered over to Aphrodite, who waited by the pickup. Standing with her hands on her hips, she gave the impression she’d been waiting for hours.

Aphrodite appraised the skinny woman with a smile. Grace wore faded blue denim jeans and a white t-shirt, teamed with flat pumps. She looked a lot better without the thick layer of make-up she usually wore. Her hair looked lovely, tied back off her face and the beginnings of a tan gave her a healthy glow. Aphrodite thought the new look suited her. She’d changed since only yesterday. The casual look was a lot more appropriate for a village like Kythnos than the stiff formality of her usual appearance.

Transformation aside, Aphrodite was unsure if her new friend was ready for the temperamental pickup. The thing had a mind of its own, and she hoped that it would behave itself today, because it hadn’t the last time she had made the trip up the mountain. It was her only transport and was badly in need of a service, and Vassilis would not pay for it. Declining Grace’s offer of help, she told her to clamber into the pickup. In! she said, waving her arms in the air and gesturing towards the passenger door.

Grace took a deep breath. Her fear of heights was something she would have to deal with, she thought with a shrug, as she pulled on the sliver of faded plastic that passed for the door handle. Despite gripping the handle firmly, she could not open the battered old door. Half-afraid that the slightest pressure might yank the door off its hinges, she noticed that the door was a faded red, not black, like the rest of the battered old thing. The repairs looked amateurish, and she wondered if Aphrodite had done them herself.

A group of youths circled her and the tatty old truck. They looked a mischievous bunch, with their slicked-back black hair and carefully trimmed black beards. Immaculately dressed in traditional black trousers and shirts, they asked Aphrodite if they could have a lift up the mountain. A frantic exchange of words followed that Grace hadn’t a chance of understanding, culminating in the six boys, all no older than 18, leaping into the back of the pickup. Distracted, Grace eventually managed to open the door and tentatively climbed into the passenger seat. The boys messed about in the back of the pickup, and she watched them warily through the rearview mirror. They were good-humoured enough, and it soon became clear that she had nothing to worry about. Promising herself to increase the time she put into her Greek lessons, she watched as they found themselves either a place to sit or something to hang on to as they chattered to each other in very high spirits.

While Aphrodite busied herself with the many chores she didn’t need helping with. Grace gawped warily at the state of the battered old van. It didn’t look particularly roadworthy, and she realised that she should probably have checked it out before agreeing to go on the trip. A light tapping on the back window alerted her to the fact that one of the youths wanted to tell her something. He was a handsome boy, with a broad and engaging smile. Grace returned his smile as he gestured to her to fasten her seat belt and hang on tight. His friends seemed to find the suggestion hilarious. It was meant to be funny but made her feel more apprehensive. He was only having a bit of fun at her expense, she thought, or maybe he knew that the journey would be something of an event. She would later learn that hindsight is, indeed, a wonderful thing.

Peering anxiously through the mud-splattered window for some sign of Aphrodite, she wondered if it would appear churlish if she jumped out of the death-trap and ran all the way home. But Aphrodite reappeared from around the side of the taverna, cutting off her means of escape. The tiny Greek woman was working hard, tossing bags, of what looked to be bread, into the back of the pickup, to the loud cheers of the youths who made no offer to help her.

Grace’s attempts to reopen the door were futile, and she had barely given up when the door was jerked open, and an ancient and soberly dressed village woman proceeded to get in. The woman had an unfriendly face and was shrouded in the customary black despite the heat. Her whole demeanour radiated severity. The temperature was in the low 30s, and Grace thought the woman must be sweltering under all the clothes and woolly tights. The woman pushed herself into the cab beside her, wedging her in the middle seat, without uttering a word or breaking a smile. Grace had seen her before going about her business in the village. She never spoke a word of greeting.

With no means of escape, Grace tried to settle down and prepare herself for the trip, resuming her reluctant appraisal of the transport. She wished she hadn’t. It was a battered old thing. On closer inspection, the windows didn’t work. The passenger side was stuck closed, and the driver’s stuck open. It was a good 32 degrees outside, and there was no air-conditioning. The black vinyl seats were ripped and patched, and she’d stuck to hers already. The massive crack down the middle of windscreen would have rendered the vehicle unroadworthy anywhere, other than Greece. There was layer of dust so thick, it could have been spooned into a box, completely covering the whole of the interior. It was a wreck on wheels, and Grace was having a lot more than second thoughts about going anywhere in it, let alone up a long, winding mountain track. But there was no escape with the black widow beside her. She was wedged into her seat and wasn’t budging anywhere. Grace glanced sideways at the tooth-less woman in black, ensconced in the seat next to her and smiled nervously. The woman turned away and peered out of the window, making an inpatient clicking noise with her tongue. After what seemed like hours but was probably only a few minutes, Aphrodite reappeared and bounced into the driver’s seat, filling the cab with a vibrating sense of life.

Saaaarie, she beamed, slapping Grace hard on the back. Go, now! she announced cheerfully. She was in an excellent mood.

Grace smiled. Aphrodite had changed her clothes and had made a lot of effort with her appearance. The customary black was gone, replaced with a beautiful crisp white cotton blouse, embroidered with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons; that was nothing short of a work of art. Grace wondered if she’d made it herself; it suited her so perfectly. Her unreal mop of black frizzy hair had been carefully enticed into soft curls. A little eye make-up and a tiny touch of lipstick transformed her appearance completely. How her husband could have gone off fishing, without noticing the transformation, was staggering. Aphrodite was in such a good mood; it was infectious. She beamed happily at Grace and slapped her heartily on the shoulder, declaring loudly, Off we go!

A sudden movement on Grace’s right, accompanied by the shriek of "Pame!" erupting from the toothless old woman, had Grace shooting a foot into the air. Her startled and alarmed expression merely brought another roar of laughter, and another hearty slap on the back from Aphrodite.

Joanna, Aphrodite announced, nodding affectionately towards the old woman.

Friend, she said simply, giving Grace a wry smile and rolling her eyes heavenwards, as if that explained everything.

Aphrodite attempted to batter the old pickup’s engine into life, slamming her foot down hard on the accelerator and grabbing and turning the key with some force as if it might aid the procedure. After several unsuccessful attempts, the colossal beast spluttered into life and kangaroo-jumped, before leap-frogging forward and up the hill. Spewing a cloud of dense black diesel fumes into the clear fresh air and kicking up a cloud of dust as it went. Grace was horrified, but the other two didn’t seem to find the vehicle’s behaviour unusual, and so she clamped her mouth tight shut and attempted a weak smile. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as she tried to calm herself with some deep breathing exercises. The youths in the back shouted their encouragement above the roar of the engine.

Shoes! Aphrodite yelled over the din of the noisy engine. Nudging Grace in the ribs, she looked adoringly down at her feet. Grace did as she was bidden, and followed Aphrodite’s rapturous gaze down to her beautifully manicured feet. Grace could hardly believe her eyes. The stubby little feet, presently battering the living daylights out of the accelerator pedal, looked as if they could have belonged to a small child. Tiny, chubby little things, with pearl-pink nail polish, impeccably done. But it wasn’t the feet that startled Grace. It was the shoes. Aphrodite wore a pair of glitzy rainbow-coloured wedges that would have looked more at home on a moon-landing.

Wow! Grace exclaimed, momentarily stunned but laughing and nodding her appreciation. There wasn’t a lot else she could say. They were the most tastelessly horrible shoes Grace had ever seen. The rainbow-coloured sequins were truly awful and totally unsuitable for driving. They looked like something you might find in a bordello. Still, by the expression on Aphrodite’s face, she was highly delighted with them, and Grace hadn’t the heart to burst her bubble. Anyway, she didn’t know her well-enough to comment on her dress sense, and so she didn’t. Grace could cope with her choice of shoes. It was her habit of continually inspecting them, as she drove along, that was unnerving. She smiled indulgently and hoped they wouldn’t have to walk far. Because if, and when, they arrived at their destination, Aphrodite would not be walking any distance in those shoes.

How long get there? Grace asked, in her best Greek.

Hour, maybe bit more! Aphrodite replied, All up! she added, directing Grace’s gaze up the enormous mountain that stretched up towards the darkening sky.

All up, she said, gazing adoringly down at her shoes.

Chapter 3

Grace turned her attention to the road. It was little more than a dust track, littered with numerous massive boulders. Probably an old donkey trail, Grace thought as the pickup bounced along it. As they climbed higher and higher, the condition of the track deteriorated significantly. Seldom used, the surface was crumbling and dusty. It wound around the mountain, affording magnificent views of the countryside, but Grace barely noticed. The pickup groaned and squeaked as it bounced from side to side, and the three women jostled against each other in the sticky heat. Sweat trickled down Grace’s neck, and her jeans clung uncomfortably to her legs.

She’d realised early on in the journey that, thankfully, Aphrodite was an excellent driver, but Grace wished that she would go around the boulders, that dotted the road, rather than going over them. So far, she’d successfully negotiated all of them, but it wasn’t the most comfortable experience. Grace was already feeling battered and bruised. The kids, celebrating in the back of the truck, appeared to be oblivious to the danger. Screaming with laughter, they hung off the sides of the battered old pickup and shouted to their friends, in similarly unroadworthy vehicles, also snaking relentlessly up the mountain.

As darkness closed in around them, Grace sat helplessly, steeling herself as Aphrodite negotiated another series of boulders. Her fear intensified when it dawned on her why her friend preferred the up-and-over method to the easier option of going around. Gasping at the sheer drop down the mountainside, more visible from the driver’s seat than hers, she shut her eyes tight. The palpitations hammering away inside Grace’s chest upped their tempo, when it also occurred to her that the boulders must be originating from further up the mountain, and more could be on the way down. She took a deep breath and looked, warily, up the mountain. Aphrodite had earlier pointed out the little church that was their destination; and on the next bend, Grace tried to work out where it was. Swallowing hard, Grace muttered, Oh my God! through gritted teeth. They were only about a third of the way up. It would take forever to get to the top at this rate. Irrational fear gripped her; she was going to die on this mountainside, and no one was ever going to find her body.

Aphrodite, who had made the journey many times before, sensed her panic; and as well as the usual encouraging slap on the back, she offered her something that vaguely resembled a rolled-up cigarette. Grace gawped at it suspiciously. Vague memories of a bad night-out during her time at university made that particular decision easy. She declined, but Joanna, who up to now Grace had thought to be asleep, thrust a calloused little hand in front of Grace’s nose; and without a word, grabbed it greedily.

Grace’s worst nightmare went into overdrive. "God, I will be sick if they light up cigarettes!" she thought; her stomach lurching. The smell made her queasy at the best of times, but in the confines of the pickup, in the heat, and with the rocking motion of the vehicle, it was inevitable. Grace didn’t want to appear rude and so tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. To distract herself, she checked on the youths in the back. There were still six, although there seemed to be a lot more going by the noise they were making. Their antics were getting a bit out of hand, she thought as they hung onto the pickup and swung out over the mountainside as it took each sharp bend. Aphrodite hardly seemed to notice them, concentrating instead on her driving. She occasionally kissed the silver crucifix. It dangled ominously from the tarnished old mirror, that

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