







































Education, Language and Sociology Research 

ISSN 2690-3644 (Print) ISSN 2690-3652 (Online) 

Vol. 6, No. 1, 2025 

www.scholink.org/ojs/index.php/elsr 

190 

Original Paper 

“Boundary Situations” and Self-Transcendence: Elderly 

Narratives in Winter Journal 

Ming Sun1* & Runsen Liu1  

1 English Language and Literature, Xi’an International Studies University, Xi’an, China  

* Ming Sun, English Language and Literature, Xi’an International Studies University, Xi’an, China 

 

Received: February 19, 2025    Accepted: March 4, 2025    Online Published: March 24, 2025 

doi:10.22158/elsr.v6n1p190        URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.22158/elsr.v6n1p190 

 

Abstract 

This study focuses on the elderly narrative in Winter Journal by Paul Auster, integrating literary 

gerontology with the “Third Age—Fourth Age” theory to analyze how the author employs the second-

person perspective to depict the multiple dimensions of aging, illness, and death. The paper first examines 

Auster’s recollection of his living environments and bodily perceptions, highlighting how his interwoven 

writing of personal memory and socio-historical context endows individual experience with both 

immediacy and public significance. Subsequently, through an analysis of textual details such as panic 

attacks and the loss of loved ones, this study elucidates the tension between the decline of bodily functions 

and the preservation of dignity, underscoring the individual’s persistent pursuit of life’s meaning within 

boundary situations. Finally, the research argues that Winter Journal not only provides an immersive 

narrative of elderly memory but also integrates existentialist reflection and sociocultural critique into 

the memoir tradition, offering multiple insights into how aging individuals resist the encroachments of 

time and death through narration. Auster’s examination of the “Third Age” and “Fourth Age” further 

reveals that, despite the dual challenges of physical and psychological deterioration, elderly individuals 

can still achieve a form of transcendence through language and recollection. 

Keywords 

Winter Journal, second-person narration, literary gerontology, boundary situations 

 

1. Introduction 

After World War II, the United States and other Western countries experienced a period of large-scale 

population growth known as the “baby boom.” By the 1980s, this generation had gradually entered old 

age, giving rise to the concepts of the “Third Age” (young old) and the “Fourth Age” (old old). These 

two classifications represent significant differences in the physiological, psychological, and social needs 



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of the elderly, becoming central themes in aging literature and its academic research. Meanwhile, 

structural transformations in society have led to phenomena such as the “empty nest” effect and 

intergenerational conflicts, further deepening academic interest in aging and its cultural and social 

implications. 

The concept of “literary gerontology” was first systematically proposed by Annie Wyatt-Brown, whose 

core idea is to approach aging from a “whole-life” perspective. By studying literary works created by 

elderly artists, literary gerontology seeks to explore their artistic characteristics and life philosophy. This 

approach not only examines how aging is represented in literary works but also aims to uncover the 

cultural and social value of aging wisdom, encouraging reflection on how individuals can achieve 

“successful aging” at different stages of life. “Successful aging” entails not only fully enjoying the 

benefits of life but also continuing to contribute to society and ultimately accepting natural death with 

equanimity. Wyatt-Brown’s perspective laid the theoretical foundation for literary gerontology and has 

driven multidimensional research on aging literature. 

Within gerontological theory, the distinction between the “Third Age” and the “Fourth Age” is 

particularly crucial. The Third Age generally refers to the visible onset of aging following retirement. At 

the sociocultural level, individuals in this phase retain a certain degree of autonomy and active agency 

but are simultaneously constrained by various traditional perceptions and social expectations. The Fourth 

Age, in contrast, emphasizes the gradual decline in self-control, characterized by the loss of essential 

physiological functions (such as continence) and cognitive faculties (such as memory and intelligence). 

This stage often entails greater dependency and vulnerability while also prompting deeper reflections on 

the meaning of life. 

In other words, the Fourth Age is not merely a biological process of physical deterioration but also 

involves an existential dialogue between freedom and death. Even as their capacity for self-control 

diminishes, many elderly individuals continue to defend their sense of self-worth with their last vestiges 

of dignity. The significance of this silent yet profound “battle for self-preservation” lies not in whether 

the individual can “win” but in how they continue to affirm their identity and value in the face of 

inevitable aging and death. Thus, the Fourth Age is not only the final stage of life’s journey but also an 

opportunity for deep reflection on the essence of existence, self-awareness, and the meaning of being. It 

compels individuals to contemplate how to navigate the balance between dependence and autonomy, 

vulnerability and dignity, in the twilight of life, fostering a more mature and profound attitude toward the 

present moment. 

Within this theoretical framework, memoir and autobiography emerge as pivotal textual forms in 

gerontological studies. These genres often intertwine retrospection and reflection on individual life 

trajectories with broader social, cultural, and psychological dimensions. As such, they serve as valuable 

materials for the study of aging while offering crucial perspectives for understanding elderly identity, 

emotional experiences, and the evolution of social relationships. 



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The pioneering insights of Butler are particularly relevant here: he argues that the mechanism of 

reminiscence constitutes the core of elderly life, as the reconstruction of the past enables older individuals 

to maintain self-continuity and derive meaning and solace as they approach the end of life (Butler, p. 68). 

This perspective not only enriches the theoretical framework of gerontological psychology but also 

provides literary gerontology with valuable insights from psychology and sociology, further advancing 

interdisciplinary research. 

However, in the Western cultural context, which predominantly glorifies youth, the elderly continue to 

be marginalized, often reduced to symbols associated with “endings” or even “death.” Such cultural 

phenomena frequently equate aging with decline, revealing a broader societal disregard and 

underestimation of the wisdom of old age. As May Sarton lamented in Journal of a Solitude, “Our 

spiritual culture does not regard maturity as a form of wealth (Sarton, p. 70).” In contrast, Albert Camus, 

in his works, celebrates “violent death” (mort violente), viewing it as the ultimate manifestation of life’s 

passion and meaning (Camus, p. 398). To some extent, this contrast highlights the general absence of 

natural aging in Western narratives while also revealing humanity’s deep-seated anxiety and avoidance 

regarding the end of life. Confronted with the vast and enigmatic “black hole” of death, individuals often 

struggle to fully accept aging and mortality, instead constructing psychological defenses to shield 

themselves from the ultimate questions of existence. 

In reality, it is only by confronting the “absolute” that one can dispel “illusions”; likewise, only through 

reflection and a compassionate engagement with fear and prejudice can the veils of “Maya” (self-illusion) 

be gradually lifted. To truly transcend these constraints, individuals must cultivate a more open and 

critical self-awareness, while at the societal level, a more inclusive attitude toward Third and Fourth Age 

populations is required. Only through such collective efforts can a cultural and social environment be 

fostered that supports the holistic and free development of life. 

 

2. The Reproduction of Memory in Second-Person Environmental Narration 

2.1 Second-Person Narration and the Construction of Individual Ident 

In Winter Journal, Paul Auster employs a second-person perspective to retrospectively trace his personal 

history through more than twenty residences, from East Orange to Brooklyn. Through the interplay of 

space and memory, Auster explores the mechanisms underlying the formation of personal identity. This 

approach differs significantly from traditional memoirs: on the one hand, it embeds the trajectory of 

individual life within a broader historical context; on the other hand, it accentuates the “immediacy” of 

memory, whereby past experiences are continuously reinterpreted and endowed with new meaning in the 

process of recollection. This writing strategy aligns with Paul John Eakin’s discussion of “narrative 

identity,” which emphasizes that an individual’s self-awareness is formed through a continuous process 

of narration (Eakin, p. 100). Auster’s repeated use of “you” disrupts the conventional limitations of first-

person perspectives. 



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According to research on second-person narration, this mode of storytelling fosters a more direct 

connection between the reader and the text, thereby enhancing reader immersion (Fludernik, p. 452). In 

Auster’s work, memory is no longer a static display of past facts but rather an ongoing narrative process 

that actively shapes the self in the present. For example, when describing his experience of wandering 

through city streets, Auster writes: “Always lost…but most of all the sensation of sidewalks, for that is 

how you see yourself whenever you stop to think about who you are: a man who walks, a man who has 

spent his life walking through the streets of cities (Auster, pp. 57-59).” Through this lens, narration and 

lived experience become intertwined, creating a reading atmosphere of simultaneity. By reproducing past 

experiences through the second-person perspective, Winter Journal allows the past and present to coexist 

within the text. This effect is particularly evident in the depiction of memory as an immediate sensory 

experience (Fludernik, p. 460). 

Traditional memoirs are often considered records of historical facts, yet they remain inseparable from 

the subjective reconstruction of reality (Liao, p. 93). Auster is well aware of this and deliberately uses 

the second-person perspective in Winter Journal to bridge the psychological distance between the reader 

and the narrator, making memory a dynamic site for continuous self-examination and reconstruction. 

2.2 Self-Redefinition Through Temporal and Spatial Interweaving 

Regarding the interplay between narration and experience, some studies suggest that the second-person 

perspective provides readers with more opportunities for self-reflection, thus creating new experiential 

channels between the text and its audience (Fludernik, p. 457). Moreover, Auster’s use of second-person 

narration guides readers through shifts in time and space, thereby blurring the boundaries between self-

identity and temporal linearity. This flexibility in sequencing and in the relationship between subject and 

object allows second-person narration to transcend conventional linear storytelling and invites readers to 

reassess their own experiences (p. 465). As a result, Winter Journal not only presents Auster’s past 

experiences but also engages with his ongoing redefinition of self-awareness in the present. 

In the narrative, “you” may refer to the child Auster once was or to his present self, both coexisting within 

the same textual space: “Your bare feet on the cold floor as you climb out of bed and walk to the window. 

You are six years old. Outside, snow is falling, and the branches of the trees in the backyard are turning 

white (Auster, p. 1).” This technique merges past and present emotions into a single textual dimension 

(Fludernik, p. 460). As Auster shifts between different spatial and temporal moments, he also engages 

with universal themes such as aging, loss, and death. In this context, second-person narration intensifies 

the reader’s sense of “presence,” prompting a deeper engagement with and reflection on their own 

existence (p. 461). Thus, Winter Journal is not merely a retrospective account of private experiences but 

also a meditation on the meaning of existence. This narrative strategy resonates with contemporary 

theories of memory and identity, highlighting the unique potential of second-person narration in memoir 

and autobiographical literature: the process of reading and the text’s self-construction occur 

simultaneously, allowing memory to be expressed in a dynamic and fluid manner. 

 



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3. “Boundary Situations” and Self-Perception 

3.1 “Boundary Situations” and the Experience of Aging 

In Winter Journal, Auster employs second-person narration to interweave individual memory, bodily 

perception, and the passage of time, presenting the past, present, and future in a near-simultaneous 

coexistence. This narrative technique not only enhances the immersive quality of the text but also 

transforms aging, illness, and death into tangible experiences for the reader. Unlike traditional memoirs 

that reconstruct the past in a linear fashion, Auster employs second-person introspection to highlight the 

helplessness of confronting life’s finitude. In this way, aging is no longer merely a physiological process 

but becomes a critical factor in shaping self-awareness. 

The concept of “boundary situations,” central to phenomenology and existentialist philosophy, 

underscores the inescapable limits of human existence, including physical decline, the inevitability of 

death, and cognitive constraints (Jaspers, p. 178). In Auster’s narrative, these limitations manifest not 

only through his observations of his own bodily changes but also in his recollections of loved ones’ 

suffering and passing. By frequently using the second-person pronoun “you,” the author intensifies his 

self-interrogation, simultaneously inviting the reader to confront these existential dilemmas. To some 

extent, the reader shares the narrator’s anxiety and sense of powerlessness, thereby fostering an emotional 

resonance between the narrative subject and the reader. 

Auster’s use of second-person narration presents the fear of aging in an unfiltered and direct manner. In 

his descriptions of bodily transformation, aging ceases to be an abstract concept and instead becomes an 

empirical reality, repeatedly confirmed through lived experience. For instance, he writes: “Your bare feet 

on the cold floor as you climb out of bed and walk to the window. You are sixty-four years old (Auster, 

p. 230).” This statement not only records a physiological condition but also, through the emphasis on 

details such as the “cold floor” and “bare feet,” accentuates the immediacy of sensory perception. 

Compared to performing the same action in childhood, the aged body appears visibly more fragile, and 

the simple act of standing barefoot serves as an unmistakable signifier of aging. 

Elsewhere, Auster writes: “It is an incontestable fact that you are no longer young. One month from today, 

you will be turning sixty-four, and although that is not excessively old (p. 2).” This direct statement of 

age forces an unavoidable confrontation with the fact of aging. Auster avoids rhetorical devices and 

metaphors, instead presenting the irrevocability of aging in the starkest possible terms. His portrayal of 

“bodily decline” and “loss of autonomy” aligns closely with the theoretical framework of the Fourth Age 

(Gullette, p. 144). Further reinforcing this, he describes: “You feel the blood stop flowing in your veins, 

and little by little your limbs turn to cement. That is when you start to howl (Auster, p. 129).” This passage 

highlights not only the gradual accumulation of aging’s effects but also the sudden and catastrophic nature 

of physical collapse. The weakening of the body ultimately triggers psychological terror, implying a 

growing awareness of mortality and a gradual psychological preparation for death. By emphasizing this 

abrupt “breakdown,” Auster immerses the reader in an almost visceral crisis experience—an illustration 

of how aging anxiety is socially constructed. 



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In the passage recounting his mother’s death, Auster’s treatment of emotion is particularly distinctive. 

He writes: “Your mother has just died, and you’ve turned into a block of wood (p. 119).” Here, rather 

than conveying conventional grief, the narrative captures a state of “emotional freezing”—the sudden 

absence of feeling and the psychological numbness induced by the loss of a close family member. The 

death of a loved one not only signifies the severance of familial bonds but also prompts the narrator to 

reassess his own existence (Varvogli, p. 9). This approach stands in stark contrast to traditional portrayals 

of mourning, amplifying the existential shock of death. A similar theme recurs in Auster’s recollection 

of his father: “At fifty-seven, I felt old. Now, at seventy-four, I feel much younger than I did then (Auster, 

p. 29).” This statement reflects a shifting perception of time and aging: the fear and uncertainty 

surrounding old age, once acutely felt, paradoxically fade as one actually enters later life. This 

phenomenon resonates with the theory of the Third Age, wherein individuals, upon retirement or later in 

life, frequently engage in recollection and introspection to construct new meanings for themselves. 

Thus, Auster does not merely depict the struggles of aging, illness, and death but also seeks solace and 

meaning through language, memory, and intimate relationships. 

3.2 From Grief to Self-Affirmation 

Although Winter Journal repeatedly confronts themes of aging, illness, and death, Auster does not 

succumb to nihilism. He writes: “You had learned that death was not something to be feared anymore 

(Auster, p. 32).” This statement signifies his ultimate acceptance of mortality. The transformation from 

fear to tranquility forms a crucial narrative logic in the text—aging is not merely a biological decline but 

an ongoing process of constructing meaning through memory and narration. 

Through second-person self-examination, Auster vividly presents the fear of aging, the fragility of the 

body, and the sorrow of losing loved ones. These themes extend beyond personal memoirs, engaging in 

a broader existential discourse on human life. While Auster does not offer a concrete solution, his creative 

approach implicitly suggests a response: when one fully acknowledges the “boundary situations” of 

existence, one can continue to narrate, to tell one’s story, and thus persist in living. It is in this seemingly 

fragile yet persistently defiant process of storytelling that individuals resist the pull of meaninglessness, 

continuously reaffirming the value and significance of their own existence. 

 

4. Transcending Cognitive Boundaries 

4.1 Second-Person Narration and Death Anxiety 

In Winter Journal, Paul Auster’s journey of self-examination revolves around the inevitability of death—

his experience of panic attacks not only represents a traumatic episode in his personal psychological 

history but also serves as a site for exploring the nature of existence and the implications of death. Unlike 

conventional memoirs that attempt to impose narrative coherence on life experiences, Auster employs a 

second-person perspective that oscillates within the fissures of memory, blurring the boundaries between 

rational cognition and emotional intuition. This narrative strategy not only enhances the immersive 

quality of the text but also transforms the reader into a participant in a philosophical experiment on death. 



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Initially, Auster attempts to approach death from an almost utopian perspective, treating it as a transition 

of consciousness rather than the cessation of existence. He writes: “On top of all that good news, you 

had learned that death was not something to be feared anymore, that when the moment comes for a person 

to die, his being shifts into another zone of consciousness, and he is able to accept it (p. 32).” At this 

stage, he seeks to dissolve the fear of death through philosophical contemplation, framing it as a shift in 

awareness. However, when the reality of death anxiety descends upon him, this rationalized interpretation 

quickly collapses: “Five years later, when you had the first of your panic attacks, the sudden, monstrous 

attack that ripped through your body and threw you to the floor, you were not the least bit calm or 

accepting. You thought you were going to die then, too, but this time you howled in terror, more afraid 

than you had ever been in your life (p. 32).” Here, “you” is no longer a detached observer but an 

individual consumed by the fear of death. This dual perception of death reveals Auster’s inner conflict: 

on the one hand, he aspires to accept death through philosophical reasoning; on the other, when 

confronted with an actual existential crisis, all rational constructs prove powerless. This experience of 

existential collapse parallels Martin Heidegger’s concept of sein zum tode (“being toward death”) in 

Being and Time. Heidegger asserts: “Angst is anxious is being in-the-world itself (Heidegger, p. 175).” 

Auster’s panic attack serves as a literary manifestation of this moment, marking the individual’s sudden 

awareness of death and the trembling of “Da-sein” when confronting its ultimate possibility. 

Auster’s frequent use of second-person narration not only enhances the reader’s immersion but also 

universalizes the experience of death. The “you” in the text is both a projection of Auster himself and an 

open invitation to any reader grappling with aging and the fear of death. Through this narrative strategy, 

Auster blurs the distinction between “story” and “discourse,” transforming death anxiety into a shared 

existential experience. This approach differs from traditional memoirs’ linear storytelling; instead, it 

allows the narrative subject to oscillate between introspection and externalization, making death anxiety 

transcend the confines of individual experience and emerge as a universal existential dilemma. Heidegger 

further suggests: “But if being toward death belongs primordially and essentially to the being of Da-sein, 

it must also be demonstrated in everydaymess, although initially in an inauthentic way (p. 233).” Auster’s 

narrative technique embodies this possibility of “authentic” awakening by universalizing the individual’s 

confrontation with death, allowing readers to enter a reflective process of “sein zum tode” within the text. 

4.2 Moving toward Self-Surpassing through Writing 

Following his deep engagement with aging and death, Auster’s narrative gradually transitions toward a 

form of self-surpassing or self-redemption. The second-person perspective not only conveys anxiety and 

fear but also opens up space for imagining alternative modes of existence. Toward the conclusion of the 

text, he writes: “A door has closed. Another door has opened (Auster, p. 230).” This statement marks a 

cognitive shift--although death remains inevitable, writing becomes a means of resisting the erosion of 

time. 

Auster’s approach to writing resonates with Heidegger’s discussion of Entschlossenheit. Heidegger 

argues that authentic being-toward-death is not merely an experience of fear but also a decisive 



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confrontation with one’s own potentiality—for Da-sein can only truly exist-toward-death when it makes 

an authentic decision (Heidegger, p. 275). Auster’s act of writing exemplifies this resoluteness, enabling 

the individual to extend the self through language when faced with mortality. 

Additionally, this narrative strategy aligns with Hannah Arendt’s theory of speech and action. Arendt 

contends that by narrating one’s experiences, individuals embed their private life trajectories within 

public discourse, thereby transcending the limitations of personal death (Arendt, p. 173). Auster’s writing 

is not merely a record of individual experiences but also an act of “creating existence,” sustaining the 

self in textual space and granting personal experience a form of linguistic immortality. 

Winter Journal not only examines how memory shapes personal identity but also delves deeply into the 

philosophical implications of death as one of humanity’s ultimate existential dilemmas. In Auster’s 

narrative of death, we observe three interwoven trajectories: 1). the transition in death consciousness—

an initial attempt to rationalize death as a transformation of consciousness; 2). the complete collapse of 

emotional stability—when panic attacks strike, rational contemplation is shattered by the primal terror 

of death; 3). the transcendence through writing—by narrating, Auster seeks to “persist” within language, 

reinterpreting and redefining death. 

In the final chapter, Auster does not offer a definitive “solution” to the problem of death; rather, his 

memoir-writing provides a possible response: death will arrive, but narration can continue. Writing is not 

merely an act of documentation but a testament to and affirmation of existence. In the realm of language, 

individual experiences and reflections persist beyond the confines of mortality. Ultimately, Winter 

Journal presents an open-ended proposition: when faced with the “ultimate predicament” of death, 

perhaps only through continuous narration and self-expression can one, in a certain sense, transcend 

conventional cognitive boundaries and find a momentary refuge for the soul. 

 

5. Conclusion 

In Winter Journal, Paul Auster extensively employs second-person narration to interweave memory, 

bodily perception, and the passage of time within the same textual space. This technique not only 

enhances the immersive quality of the reading experience but also renders the anxiety surrounding aging, 

illness, and death particularly vivid and tangible. Auster does not merely engage in a linear retrospection 

of personal experiences; rather, through the repeated inscription of urban environments and bodily states, 

he constructs a narrative network that intersects with social history, life stages, and philosophical 

reflections. 

This distinctive narrative approach first demonstrates how memory becomes an integral part of the 

present: readers do not passively observe the author’s “past story”; instead, through the second-person 

perspective, they are drawn into an experiential mode, where they co-experience the disorientation, aging 

anxieties, and existential uncertainties alongside the “I” in the text. Second, Auster persistently engages 

with “boundary situations” in the narrative, directly confronting the inescapable limits of human 

existence—not only the deterioration of the body but also the emotional upheaval caused by the loss of 



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loved ones. In this process, individual identity ceases to be fixed; rather, it is continuously redefined and 

deconstructed through the flux of time and space. Through such introspective analysis, Auster transforms 

what initially appears to be an intimate account of the body and emotions into a philosophical inquiry of 

universal significance. 

More importantly, Winter Journal does not merely engage with death as an abstract philosophical concept, 

nor does it succumb entirely to fear. Instead, Auster seeks a form of self-transcendence through language, 

navigating between pain and mourning. He initially attempts to rationalize death, viewing it from a 

utopian perspective as a “transition of consciousness,” yet ultimately acknowledges that in the moment 

of confronting true fear, all theoretical constructs may collapse. However, it is precisely this existential 

struggle that compels him to persistently ask through writing: in the face of an inevitable end, is there a 

way to achieve continuation? Within the invocation of second-person narration, both the reader and the 

author are drawn into this existential dilemma, while simultaneously, the narrative process itself hints at 

a possible spiritual or meaningful resolution. 

In other words, Auster’s work is not merely a personal memoir but a literary and philosophical 

experiment on “how to understand self-existence.” He intricately entangles individual experience with 

social and cultural history, interweaving historical memory with present perception, transforming aging, 

illness, and death into gateways for self-reflection and the exploration of shared human dilemmas. At the 

textual level, the repetition and variation of second-person narration serve not only as an artistic technique 

for reader immersion but also as an attempt to challenge the conventional paradigm of memoir writing: 

the individual does not merely recount the past to oneself but also pulls the reader into the experience, 

compelling them to confront the fear of aging and death, the pain of familial loss, and the fundamental 

question of existence. Writing here functions not only as a means of documenting the past but also as an 

act of resisting nihilism and the erosion of time. 

From this perspective, Auster’s exploration in Winter Journal becomes clearer: how does one confront 

the finitude of life through the retrospection and reconstruction of memory, and how does narration serve 

as a means of self-continuation? Auster ultimately does not provide a definitive answer, but his writing 

practice suggests that the value of memoir lies not only in chronicling personal experiences but also in 

continuously interrogating the relationship between the self and the world. Perhaps, by engaging with 

storytelling through the second-person perspective, we may slightly transcend the established cognitive 

boundaries, transforming “death” from a purely terrifying prospect into a shared human concern. It is 

precisely through this dialogue and reflection that individuals, even in the face of time’s inexorable force, 

may still retain a glimmer of vitality and courage. 

 

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