(Augustine, Confessions. part 8)

become a catechumen in the Catholic Church -- which my parents had
so much urged upon me -- until something certain shone forth by
which I might guide my course.



                          BOOK SIX


     Turmoil in the twenties.  Monica follows Augustine to Milan
and finds him a catechumen in the Catholic Church. Both admire
Ambrose but Augustine gets no help from him on his personal
problems.  Ambition spurs and Alypius and Nebridius join him in a
confused quest for the happy life.  Augustine becomes engaged,
dismisses his first mistress, takes another, and continues his
fruitless search for truth.


                           CHAPTER I

     1.  O Hope from my youth,[149] where wast thou to me and
where hadst thou gone away?[150]  For hadst thou not created me
and differentiated me from the beasts of the field and the birds
of the air, making me wiser than they?  And yet I was wandering
about in a dark and slippery way, seeking thee outside myself and
thus not finding the God of my heart.  I had gone down into the
depths of the sea and had lost faith, and had despaired of ever
finding the truth.
     By this time my mother had come to me, having mustered the
courage of piety, following over sea and land, secure in thee
through all the perils of the journey.  For in the dangers of the
voyage she comforted the sailors -- to whom the inexperienced
voyagers, when alarmed, were accustomed to go for comfort -- and
assured them of a safe arrival because she had been so assured by
thee in a vision.
     She found me in deadly peril through my despair of ever
finding the truth.  But when I told her that I was now no longer a
Manichean, though not yet a Catholic Christian, she did not leap
for joy as if this were unexpected; for she had already been
reassured about that part of my misery for which she had mourned
me as one dead, but also as one who would be raised to thee.  She
had carried me out on the bier of her thoughts, that thou mightest
say to the widow's son, "Young man, I say unto you, arise!"[151]
and then he would revive and begin to speak, and thou wouldst
deliver him to his mother.  Therefore, her heart was not agitated
with any violent exultation when she heard that so great a part of
what she daily entreated thee to do had actually already been done
-- that, though I had not yet grasped the truth, I was rescued
from falsehood.  Instead, she was fully confident that thou who
hadst promised the whole would give her the rest, and thus most
calmly, and with a fully confident heart, she replied to me that
she believed, in Christ, that before she died she would see me a
faithful Catholic.  And she said no more than this to me.  But to
thee, O Fountain of mercy, she poured out still more frequent
prayers and tears that thou wouldst hasten thy aid and enlighten
my darkness, and she hurried all the more zealously to the church
and hung upon the words of Ambrose, praying for the fountain of
water that springs up into everlasting life.[152]  For she loved
that man as an angel of God, since she knew that it was by him
that I had been brought thus far to that wavering state of
agitation I was now in, through which she was fully persuaded I
should pass from sickness to health, even though it would be after
a still sharper convulsion which physicians call "the crisis."


                          CHAPTER II

     2.  So also my mother brought to certain oratories, erected
in the memory of the saints, offerings of porridge, bread, and
wine -- as had been her custom in Africa -- and she was forbidden
to do so by the doorkeeper [ostiarius].  And as soon as she
learned that it was the bishop who had forbidden it, she
acquiesced so devoutly and obediently that I myself marveled how
readily she could bring herself to turn critic of her own customs,
rather than question his prohibition.  For winebibbing had not
taken possession of her spirit, nor did the love of wine stimulate
her to hate the truth, as it does too many, both male and female,
who turn as sick at a hymn to sobriety as drunkards do at a
draught of water.  When she had brought her basket with the
festive gifts, which she would taste first herself and give the
rest away, she would never allow herself more than one little cup
of wine, diluted according to her own temperate palate, which she
would taste out of courtesy.  And, if there were many oratories of
departed saints that ought to be honored in the same way, she
still carried around with her the same little cup, to be used
everywhere.  This became not only very much watered but also quite
tepid with carrying it about.  She would distribute it by small
sips to those around, for she sought to stimulate their devotion,
not pleasure.
     But as soon as she found that this custom was forbidden by
that famous preacher and most pious prelate, even to those who
would use it in moderation, lest thereby it might be an occasion
of gluttony for those who were already drunken (and also because
these funereal memorials were very much like some of the
superstitious practices of the pagans), she most willingly
abstained from it.  And, in place of a basket filled with fruits
of the earth, she had learned to bring to the oratories of the
martyrs a heart full of purer petitions, and to give all that she
could to the poor -- so that the Communion of the Lord's body
might be rightly celebrated in those places where, after the
example of his Passion, the martyrs had been sacrificed and
crowned.  But yet it seems to me, O Lord my God -- and my heart
thinks of it this way in thy sight -- that my mother would
probably not have given way so easily to the rejection of this
custom if it had been forbidden by another, whom she did not love
as she did Ambrose.  For, out of her concern for my salvation, she
loved him most dearly; and he loved her truly, on account of her
faithful religious life, in which she frequented the church with
good works, "fervent in spirit."[153]  Thus he would, when he saw
me, often burst forth into praise of her, congratulating me that I
had such a mother -- little knowing what a son she had in me, who
was still a skeptic in all these matters and who could not
conceive that the way of life could be found out.


                          CHAPTER III

     3.  Nor had I come yet to groan in my prayers that thou
wouldst help me.  My mind was wholly intent on knowledge and eager
for disputation.  Ambrose himself I esteemed a happy man, as the
world counted happiness, because great personages held him in
honor.  Only his celibacy appeared to me a painful burden.  But
what hope he cherished, what struggles he had against the
temptations that beset his high station, what solace in adversity,
and what savory joys thy bread possessed for the hidden mouth of
his heart when feeding on it, I could neither
     conjecture nor experience.
     Nor did he know my own frustrations, nor the pit of my
danger.  For I could not request of him what I wanted as I wanted
it, because I was debarred from hearing and speaking to him by
crowds of busy people to whose infirmities he devoted himself.
And when he was not engaged with them -- which was never for long
at a time -- he was either refreshing his body with necessary food
or his mind with reading.
     Now, as he read, his eyes glanced over the pages and his
heart searched out the sense, but his voice and tongue were
silent.  Often when we came to his room -- for no one was
forbidden to enter, nor was it his custom that the arrival of
visitors should be announced to him -- we would see him thus
reading to himself.  After we had sat for a long time in silence
-- for who would dare interrupt one so intent? -- we would then
depart, realizing that he was unwilling to be distracted in the
little time he could gain for the recruiting of his mind, free
from the clamor of other men's business.  Perhaps he was fearful
lest, if the author he was studying should express himself
vaguely, some doubtful and attentive hearer would ask him to
expound it or discuss some of the more abstruse questions, so that
he could not get over as much material as he wished, if his time
was occupied with others.  And even a truer reason for his reading
to himself might have been the care for preserving his voice,
which was very easily weakened.  Whatever his motive was in so
doing, it was doubtless, in such a man, a good one.
     4.  But actually I could find no opportunity of putting the
questions I desired to that holy oracle of thine in his heart,
unless it was a matter which could be dealt with briefly.
However, those surgings in me required that he should give me his
full leisure so that I might pour them out to him; but I never
found him so.  I heard him, indeed, every Lord's Day, "rightly
dividing the word of truth"[154] among the people.  And I became
all the more convinced that all those knots of crafty calumnies
which those deceivers of ours had knit together against the divine
books could be unraveled.
     I soon understood that the statement that man was made after
the image of Him that created him[155] was not understood by thy
spiritual sons -- whom thou hadst regenerated through the Catholic
Mother[156] through grace -- as if they believed and imagined that
thou wert bounded by a human form, although what was the nature of
a spiritual substance I had not the faintest or vaguest notion.
Still rejoicing, I blushed that for so many years I had bayed, not
against the Catholic faith, but against the fables of fleshly
imagination.  For I had been both impious and rash in this, that I
had condemned by pronouncement what I ought to have learned by
inquiry.  For thou, O Most High, and most near, most secret, yet
most present, who dost not have limbs, some of which are larger
and some smaller, but who art wholly everywhere and nowhere in
space, and art not shaped by some corporeal form: thou didst
create man after thy own image and, see, he dwells in space, both
head and feet.


                          CHAPTER IV

     5.  Since I could not then understand how this image of thine
could subsist, I should have knocked on the door and propounded
the doubt as to how it was to be believed, and not have
insultingly opposed it as if it were actually believed.
Therefore, my anxiety as to what I could retain as certain gnawed
all the more sharply into my soul, and I felt quite ashamed
because during the long time I had been deluded and deceived by
the [Manichean] promises of certainties, I had, with childish
petulance, prated of so many uncertainties as if they were
certain.  That they were falsehoods became apparent to me only
afterward.  However, I was certain that they were uncertain and
since I had held them as certainly uncertain I had accused thy
Catholic Church with a blind contentiousness.  I had not yet
discovered that it taught the truth, but I now knew that it did
not teach what I had so vehemently accused it of.  In this
respect, at least, I was confounded and converted; and I rejoiced,
O my God, that the one Church, the body of thy only Son -- in
which the name of Christ had been sealed upon me as an infant --
did not relish these childish trifles and did not maintain in its
sound doctrine any tenet that would involve pressing thee, the
Creator of all, into space, which, however extended and immense,
would still be bounded on all sides -- like the shape of a human
body.
     6.  I was also glad that the old Scriptures of the Law and
the Prophets were laid before me to be read, not now with an eye
to what had seemed absurd in them when formerly I censured thy
holy ones for thinking thus, when they actually did not think in
that way.  And I listened with delight to Ambrose, in his sermons
to the people, often recommending this text most diligently as a
rule: "The letter kills, but the spirit gives life,"[157] while at
the same time he drew aside the mystic veil and opened to view the
spiritual meaning of what seemed to teach perverse doctrine if it
were taken according to the letter.  I found nothing in his
teachings that offended me, though I could not yet know for
certain whether what he taught was true.  For all this time I
restrained my heart from assenting to anything, fearing to fall
headlong into error.  Instead, by this hanging in suspense, I was
being strangled.[158]  For my desire was to be as certain of
invisible things as I was that seven and three are ten.  I was not
so deranged as to believe that _this_ could not be comprehended,
but my desire was to have other things as clear as this, whether
they were physical objects, which were not present to my senses,
or spiritual objects, which I did not know how to conceive of
except in physical terms.
     If I could have believed, I might have been cured, and, with
the sight of my soul cleared up, it might in some way have been
directed toward thy truth, which always abides and fails in
nothing.  But, just as it happens that a man who has tried a bad
physician fears to trust himself with a good one, so it was with
the health of my soul, which could not be healed except by
believing.  But lest it should believe falsehoods, it refused to
be cured, resisting thy hand, who hast prepared for us the
medicines of faith and applied them to the maladies of the whole
world, and endowed them with such great efficacy.


                           CHAPTER V

     7.  Still, from this time forward, I began to prefer the
Catholic doctrine.  I felt that it was with moderation and honesty
that it commanded things to be believed that were not demonstrated
-- whether they could be demonstrated, but not to everyone, or
whether they could not be demonstrated at all.  This was far
better than the method of the Manicheans, in which our credulity
was mocked by an audacious promise of knowledge and then many
fabulous and absurd things were forced upon believers _because_
they were incapable of demonstration.  After that, O Lord, little
by little, with a gentle and most merciful hand, drawing and
calming my heart, thou didst persuade me that, if I took into
account the multitude of things I had never seen, nor been present
when they were enacted -- such as many of the events of secular
history; and the numerous reports of places and cities which I had
not seen; or such as my relations with many friends, or
physicians, or with these men and those -- that unless we should
believe, we should do nothing at all in this life.[159]  Finally,
I was impressed with what an unalterable assurance I believed
which two people were my parents, though this was impossible for
me to know otherwise than by hearsay.  By bringing all this into
my consideration, thou didst persuade me that it was not the ones
who believed thy books -- which with so great authority thou hast
established among nearly all nations -- but those who did not
believe them who were to be blamed.  Moreover, those men were not
to be listened to who would say to me, "How do you know that those
Scriptures were imparted to mankind by the Spirit of the one and
most true God?"  For this was the point that was most of all to be
believed, since no wranglings of blasphemous questions such as I
had read in the books of the self-contradicting philosophers could
once snatch from me the belief that thou dost exist -- although
_what_ thou art I did not know -- and that to thee belongs the
governance of human affairs.
     8.  This much I believed, some times more strongly than other
times.  But I always believed both that thou art and that thou
hast a care for us,[160] although I was ignorant both as to what
should be thought about thy substance and as to which way led, or
led back, to thee.  Thus, since we are too weak by unaided reason
to find out truth, and since, because of this, we need the
authority of the Holy Writings, I had now begun to believe that
thou wouldst not, under any circumstances, have given such eminent
authority to those Scriptures throughout all lands if it had not
been that through them thy will may be believed in and that thou
mightest be sought.  For, as to those passages in the Scripture
which had heretofore appeared incongruous and offensive to me, now
that I had heard several of them expounded reasonably, I could see
that they were to be resolved by the mysteries of spiritual
interpretation.  The authority of Scripture seemed to me all the
more revered and worthy of devout belief because, although it was
visible for all to read, it reserved the full majesty of its
secret wisdom within its spiritual profundity.  While it stooped
to all in the great plainness of its language and simplicity of
style, it yet required the closest attention of the most serious-
minded -- so that it might receive all into its common bosom, and
direct some few through its narrow passages toward thee, yet many
more than would have been the case had there not been in it such a
lofty authority, which nevertheless allured multitudes to its
bosom by its holy humility.  I continued to reflect upon these
things, and thou wast with me.  I sighed, and thou didst hear me.
I vacillated, and thou guidedst me.  I roamed the broad way of the
world, and thou didst not desert me.


                          CHAPTER VI

     9.  I was still eagerly aspiring to honors, money, and
matrimony; and thou didst mock me.  In pursuit of these ambitions
I endured the most bitter hardships, in which thou wast being the
more gracious the less thou wouldst allow anything that was not
thee to grow sweet to me.  Look into my heart, O Lord, whose
prompting it is that I should recall all this, and confess it to
thee.  Now let my soul cleave to thee, now that thou hast freed
her from that fast-sticking glue of death.
     How wretched she was!  And thou didst irritate her sore wound
so that she might forsake all else and turn to thee -- who art
above all and without whom all things would be nothing at all --
so that she should be converted and healed.  How wretched I was at
that time, and how thou didst deal with me so as to make me aware
of my wretchedness, I recall from the incident of the day on which
I was preparing to recite a panegyric on the emperor.  In it I was
to deliver many a lie, and the lying was to be applauded by those
who knew I was lying.  My heart was agitated with this sense of
guilt and it seethed with the fever of my uneasiness.  For, while
walking along one of the streets of Milan, I saw a poor beggar --
with what I believe was a full belly -- joking and hilarious.  And
I sighed and spoke to the friends around me of the many sorrows
that flowed from our madness, because in spite of all our
exertions -- such as those I was then laboring in, dragging the
burden of my unhappiness under the spur of ambition, and, by
dragging it, increasing it at the same time -- still and all we
aimed only to attain that very happiness which this beggar had
reached before us; and there was a grim chance that we should
never attain it!  For what he had obtained through a few coins,
got by his begging, I was still scheming for by many a wretched
and tortuous turning -- namely, the joy of a passing felicity.  He
had not, indeed, gained true joy, but, at the same time, with all
my ambitions, I was seeking one still more untrue.  Anyhow, he was
now joyous and I was anxious.  He was free from care, and I was
full of alarms.  Now, if anyone should inquire of me whether I
should prefer to be merry or anxious, I would reply, "Merry."
Again, if I had been asked whether I should prefer to be as he was
or as I myself then was, I would have chosen to be myself; though
I was beset with cares and alarms.  But would not this have been a
false choice?  Was the contrast valid?  Actually, I ought not to
prefer myself to him because I happened to be more learned than he
was; for I got no great pleasure from my learning, but sought,
rather, to please men by its exhibition -- and this not to
instruct, but only to please.  Thus thou didst break my bones with
the rod of thy correction.
     10.  Let my soul take its leave of those who say: "It makes a
difference as to the object from which a man derives his joy.  The
beggar rejoiced in drunkenness; you longed to rejoice in glory."
What glory, O Lord?  The kind that is not in thee, for, just as
his was no true joy, so was mine no true glory; but it turned my
head all the more.  He would get over his drunkenness that same
night, but I had slept with mine many a night and risen again with
it, and was to sleep again and rise again with it, I know not how
many times.  It does indeed make a difference as to the object
from which a man's joy is gained.  I know this is so, and I know
that the joy of a faithful hope is incomparably beyond such
vanity.  Yet, at the same time, this beggar was beyond me, for he
truly was the happier man -- not only because he was thoroughly
steeped in his mirth while I was torn to pieces with my cares, but
because he had gotten his wine by giving good wishes to the
passers-by while I was following after the ambition of my pride by
lying.  Much to this effect I said to my good companions, and I
saw how readily they reacted pretty much as I did.  Thus I found
that it went ill with me; and I fretted, and doubled that very
ill.  And if any prosperity smiled upon me, I loathed to seize it,
for almost before I could grasp it, it would fly away.


                          CHAPTER VII

     11.  Those of us who were living like friends together used
to bemoan our lot in our common talk; but I discussed it with
Alypius and Nebridius more especially and in very familiar terms.
Alypius had been born in the same town as I; his parents were of
the highest rank there, but he was a bit younger than I.  He had
studied under me when I first taught in our town, and then
afterward at Carthage.  He esteemed me highly because I appeared
to him good and learned, and I esteemed him for his inborn love of
virtue, which was uncommonly marked in a man so young.  But in the
whirlpool of Carthaginian fashion -- where frivolous spectacles
are hotly followed -- he had been inveigled into the madness of
the gladiatorial games.  While he was miserably tossed about in
this fad, I was teaching rhetoric there in a public school.  At
that time he was not attending my classes because of some ill
feeling that had arisen between me and his father.  I then came to
discover how fatally he doted upon the circus, and I was deeply
grieved, for he seemed likely to cast away his very great promise
-- if, indeed, he had not already done so.  Yet I had no means of
advising him, or any way of reclaiming him through restraint,
either by the kindness of a friend or by the authority of a
teacher.  For I imagined that his feelings toward me were the same
as his father's.  But this turned out not to be the case.  Indeed,
disregarding his father's will in the matter, he began to be
friendly and to visit my lecture room, to listen for a while and
then depart.
     12.  But it slipped my memory to try to deal with his
problem, to prevent him from ruining his excellent mind in his
blind and headstrong passion for frivolous sport.  But thou, O
Lord, who holdest the helm of all that thou hast created,[161]
thou hadst not forgotten him who was one day to be numbered among
thy sons, a chief minister of thy sacrament.[162]  And in order
that his amendment might plainly be attributed to thee, thou
broughtest it about through me while I knew nothing of it.
     One day, when I was sitting in my accustomed place with my
scholars before me, he came in, greeted me, sat himself down, and
fixed his attention on the subject I was then discussing.  It so
happened that I had a passage in hand and, while I was
interpreting it, a simile occurred to me, taken from the
gladiatorial games.  It struck me as relevant to make more
pleasant and plain the point I wanted to convey by adding a biting
gibe at those whom that madness had enthralled.  Thou knowest, O
our God, that I had no thought at that time of curing Alypius of
that plague.  But he took it to himself and thought that I would
not have said it but for his sake.  And what any other man would
have taken as an occasion of offense against me, this worthy young
man took as a reason for being offended at himself, and for loving
me the more fervently.  Thou hast said it long ago and written in
thy Book, "Rebuke a wise man, and he will love you."[163]  Now I
had not rebuked him; but thou who canst make use of everything,
both witting and unwitting, and in the order which thou thyself
knowest to be best -- and that order is right -- thou madest my
heart and tongue into burning coals with which thou mightest
cauterize and cure the hopeful mind thus languishing.  Let him be
silent in thy praise who does not meditate on thy mercy, which
rises up in my inmost parts to confess to thee.  For after that
speech Alypius rushed up out of that deep pit into which he had
willfully plunged and in which he had been blinded by its
miserable pleasures.  And he roused his mind with a resolve to
moderation.  When he had done this, all the filth of the
gladiatorial pleasures dropped away from him, and he went to them
no more.  Then he also prevailed upon his reluctant father to let
him be my pupil.  And, at the son's urging, the father at last
consented.  Thus Alypius began again to hear my lectures and
became involved with me in the same superstition, loving in the
Manicheans that outward display of ascetic discipline which he
believed was true and unfeigned.  It was, however, a senseless and
seducing continence, which ensnared precious souls who were not
able as yet to reach the height of true virtue, and who were
easily beguiled with the veneer of what was only a shadowy and
feigned virtue.


                         CHAPTER VIII

     13.  He had gone on to Rome before me to study law -- which
was the worldly way which his parents were forever urging him to
pursue -- and there he was carried away again with an incredible
passion for the gladiatorial shows.  For, although he had been
utterly opposed to such spectacles and detested them, one day he
met by chance a company of his acquaintances and fellow students
returning from dinner; and, with a friendly violence, they drew
him, resisting and objecting vehemently, into the amphitheater, on
a day of those cruel and murderous shows.  He protested to them:
"Though you drag my body to that place and set me down there, you
cannot force me to give my mind or lend my eyes to these shows.
Thus I will be absent while present, and so overcome both you and
them." When they heard this, they dragged him on in, probably
interested to see whether he could do as he said.  When they got
to the arena, and had taken what seats they could get, the whole
place became a tumult of inhuman frenzy.  But Alypius kept his
eyes closed and forbade his mind to roam abroad after such
wickedness.  Would that he had shut his ears also!  For when one
of the combatants fell in the fight, a mighty cry from the whole
audience stirred him so strongly that, overcome by curiosity and
still prepared (as he thought) to despise and rise superior to it
no matter what it was, he opened his eyes and was struck with a
deeper wound in his soul than the victim whom he desired to see
had been in his body.  Thus he fell more miserably than the one
whose fall had raised that mighty clamor which had entered through
his ears and unlocked his eyes to make way for the wounding and
beating down of his soul, which was more audacious than truly
valiant -- also it was weaker because it presumed on its own
strength when it ought to have depended on Thee.  For, as soon as
he saw the blood, he drank in with it a savage temper, and he did
not turn away, but fixed his eyes on the bloody pastime,
unwittingly drinking in the madness -- delighted with the wicked
contest and drunk with blood lust.  He was now no longer the same
man who came in, but was one of the mob he came into, a true
companion of those who had brought him thither.  Why need I say
more?  He looked, he shouted, he was excited, and he took away
with him the madness that would stimulate him to come again: not
only with those who first enticed him, but even without them;
indeed, dragging in others besides.  And yet from all this, with a
most powerful and most merciful hand, thou didst pluck him and
taught him not to rest his confidence in himself but in thee --
but not till long after.


                          CHAPTER IX

     14.  But this was all being stored up in his memory as
medicine for the future.  So also was that other incident when he
was still studying under me at Carthage and was meditating at
noonday in the market place on what he had to recite -- as
scholars usually have to do for practice -- and thou didst allow
him to be arrested by the police officers in the market place as a
thief.  I believe, O my God, that thou didst allow this for no
other reason than that this man who was in the future to prove so
great should now begin to learn that, in making just decisions, a
man should not readily be condemned by other men with reckless
credulity.
     For as he was walking up and down alone before the judgment
seat with his tablets and pen, lo, a young man -- another one of
the scholars, who was the real thief -- secretly brought a hatchet
and, without Alypius seeing him, got in as far as the leaden bars
which protected the silversmith shop and began to hack away at the
lead gratings.  But when the noise of the hatchet was heard the
silversmiths below began to call to each other in whispers and
sent men to arrest whomsoever they should find.  The thief heard
their voices and ran away, leaving his hatchet because he was
afraid to be caught with it.  Now Alypius, who had not seen him
come in, got a glimpse of him as he went out and noticed that he
went off in great haste.  Being curious to know the reasons, he
went up to the place, where he found the hatchet, and stood
wondering and pondering when, behold, those that were sent caught
him alone, holding the hatchet which had made the noise which had
startled them and brought them there.  They seized him and dragged
him away, gathering the tenants of the market place about them and
boasting that they had caught a notorious thief.  Thereupon he was
led away to appear before the judge.
     15.  But this is as far as his lesson was to go.  For
immediately, O Lord, thou didst come to the rescue of his
innocence, of which thou wast the sole witness.  As he was being
led off to prison or punishment, they were met by the master
builder who had charge of the public buildings.  The captors were
especially glad to meet him because he had more than once
suspected them of stealing the goods that had been lost out of the
market place.  Now, at last, they thought they could convince him
who it was that had committed the thefts.  But the custodian had
often met Alypius at the house of a certain senator, whose
receptions he used to attend.  He recognized him at once and,
taking his hand, led him apart from the throng, inquired the cause
of all the trouble, and learned what had occurred.  He then
commanded all the rabble still around -- and very uproarious and
full of threatenings they were -- to come along with him, and they
came to the house of the young man who had committed the deed.
There, before the door, was a slave boy so young that he was not



(continued in part 9 ...)




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