<p><SPAN name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></SPAN></p>
<h2> CHAPTER IX </h2>
<h3> THE SWAMP </h3>
<p>Neither Hans nor I carried rifles that we knew would be in the way on our
business, which was just to scout. Moreover, one is always tempted to
shoot if a gun is at hand, and this I did not want to do at present. So,
although I had my revolver in case of urgent necessity, my only other
weapon was a Zulu axe, that formerly had belonged to one of those two men
who died defending Inez on the veranda at Strathmuir, while Hans had
nothing but his long knife. Thus armed, or unarmed, we crept forward
towards that spot whence, as we conjectured, we had seen the line of smoke
rising some hours before.</p>
<p>For about a quarter of a mile we went on thus without seeing or hearing
anything, and a difficult job it was in that gloom among the scattered
trees with no light save such as the stars gave us. Indeed, I was about to
suggest that we had better abandon the enterprise until daybreak when Hans
nudged me, whispering,</p>
<p>"Look to the right between those twin thorns."</p>
<p>I obeyed and following the line of sight which he had indicated,
perceived, at a distance of about two hundred yards a faint glow, so faint
indeed that I think only Hans would have noticed it. Really it might have
been nothing more than the phosphorescence rising from a heap of fungus,
or even from a decaying animal.</p>
<p>"The fire of which we saw the smoke that has burnt to ashes," whispered
Hans again. "I think that they have gone, but let us look."</p>
<p>So we crawled forward very cautiously to avoid making the slightest noise;
so cautiously, indeed, that it must have taken us nearly half an hour to
cover those two hundred yards.</p>
<p>At length we were within about forty yards of that dying fire and, afraid
to go further, came to a stand—or rather, a lie-still—behind
some bushes until we knew more. Hans lifted his head and sniffed with his
broad nostrils; then he whispered into my ear, but so low that I could
scarcely hear him.</p>
<p>"Amahagger there all right, Baas, I smell them."</p>
<p>This of course was possible, since what wind there was blew from the
direction of the fire, although I whose nose is fairly keen could smell
nothing at all. So I determined to wait and watch a while, and indicated
my decision to Hans, who, considering our purpose accomplished, showed
signs of wishing to retreat.</p>
<p>Some minutes we lay thus, till of a sudden this happened. A branch of
resinous wood of which the stem had been eaten through by the flames, fell
upon the ashes of the fire and burnt up with a brilliant light. In it we
saw that the Amahagger were sleeping in a circle round the fire wrapped in
their blankets.</p>
<p>Also we saw another thing, namely that nearer to us, not more than a dozen
yards away, indeed, was a kind of little tent, also made of fur rugs or
blankets, which doubtless sheltered Inez. Indeed, this was evident from
the fact that at the mouth of it, wrapped up in something, lay none other
than her maid, Janee, for her face being towards us, was recognised by us
both in the flare of the flaming branch. One more thing we noted, namely,
that two of the cannibals, evidently a guard, were sleeping between us and
the little tent. Of course they ought to have been awake, but fatigue had
overcome them and there they slumbered, seated on the ground, their heads
hanging forward almost upon their knees.</p>
<p>An idea came to me. If we could kill those men without waking the others
in that gloom, it might be possible to rescue Inez at once. Rapidly I
weighed the <i>pros</i> and <i>cons</i> of such an attempt. Its
advantages, if successful, were that the object of our pursuit would be
carried through without further trouble and that it was most doubtful
whether we should ever get such a chance again. If we returned to fetch
the others and attacked in force, the probability was that those
Amahagger, or one of them, would hear some sound made by the advance of a
number of men, and fly into the darkness; or, rather than lose Inez, they
might kill her. Or if they stood and fought, she might be slain in the
scrimmage. Or, as after all we had only about a dozen effectives, for the
Strathmuir bearers could not be relied upon, they might defeat and kill us
whom they outnumbered by two or three to one.</p>
<p>These were the arguments for the attempt. Those for not making it were
equally obvious. To begin with it was one of extraordinary risk; the two
guards or someone else behind them might wake up—for such people,
like dogs, mostly sleep with one eye open, especially when they knew that
they are being pursued. Or if they did not we might bungle the business so
that they raised an outcry before they grew silent for ever, in which case
both of us and perhaps Inez also would probably pay the penalty before we
could get away.</p>
<p>Such was the horned dilemma upon one point or other of which we ran the
risk of being impaled. For a full minute or more I considered the matter
with an earnestness almost amounting to mental agony, and at last all but
came to the conclusion that the danger was too enormous. It would be
better, notwithstanding the many disadvantages of that plan, to go back
and fetch the others.</p>
<p>But then it was that I made one of my many mistakes in life. Most of us do
more foolish things than wise ones and sometimes I think that in spite of
a certain reputation for caution and far-sightedness, I am exceptionally
cursed in this respect. Indeed, when I look back upon my past, I can
scarcely see the scanty flowers of wisdom that decorate its path because
of the fat, ugly trees of error by which it is overshadowed.</p>
<p>On that occasion, forgetting past experiences where Hans was concerned, my
natural tendency to blunder took the form of relying upon another's
judgment instead of on my own. Although I had formed a certain view as to
what should be done, the <i>pros</i> and <i>cons</i> seemed so evenly
balanced that I determined to consult the little Hottentot and accept his
verdict. This, after all, was but a form of gambling like pitch and toss,
since, although it is true Hans was a clever, or at any rate a cunning man
according to his lights, and experienced, it meant that I was placing my
own judgment in abeyance, which no one considering a life-and-death
enterprise should do, taking the chance of that of another, whatever it
might be. However, not for the first time, I did so—to my grief.</p>
<p>In the tiniest of whispers with my lips right against his smelly head, I
submitted the problem to Hans, asking him what we should do, go on or go
back. He considered a while, then answered in a voice which he contrived
to make like the drone of a night beetle.</p>
<p>"Those men are fast asleep, I know it by their breathing. Also the Baas
has the Great Medicine. Therefore I say go on, kill them and rescue
Sad-Eyes."</p>
<p>Now I saw that the Fates to which I had appealed had decided against me
and that I must accept their decree. With a sick and sinking heart—for
I did not at all like the business—I wondered for a moment what had
led Hans to take this view, which was directly opposite to any I had
expected from him. Of course his superstition about the Great Medicine had
something to do with it, but I felt convinced that this was not all.</p>
<p>Even then I guessed that two arguments appealed to him, of which the first
was that he desired, if possible, to put an end to this intolerable and
unceasing hunt which had worn us all out, no matter what that end might
be. The second and more powerful, however, was, I believed, and rightly,
that the idea of this stealthy, midnight blow appealed irresistibly to the
craft of his half-wild nature in which the strains of the leopard and the
snake seemed to mingle with that of the human being. For be it remembered
that notwithstanding his veneer of civilisation, Hans was a savage whose
forefathers for countless ages had preserved themselves alive by means of
such attacks and stratagems.</p>
<p>The die having been cast, in the same infinitesimal whispers we made our
arrangements, which were few and simple. They amounted to this—that
we were to creep on to the men and each of us to kill that one who was
opposite to him, I with the axe and Hans with his knife, remembering that
it must be done with a single stroke—that is, if they did not wake
up and kill us—after which we were to get Inez out of her shelter,
dressed or undressed, and make off with her into the darkness where we
were pretty sure of being able to baffle pursuit until we reached our own
camp.</p>
<p>Provided that we could kill the two guards in the proper fashion—rather
a large proviso, I admit—the thing was simple as shelling peas
which, notwithstanding the proverb, in my experience is not simple at all,
since generally the shells crack the wrong way and at least one of the
peas remained in the pod. So it happened in this case, for Janee, whom we
had both forgotten, remained in the pod.</p>
<p>I am sure I don't know why we overlooked her; indeed, the error was
inexcusable, especially as Hans had already experienced her foolishness
and she was lying there before our eyes. I suppose that our minds were so
concentrated upon the guard-killing and the tragic and impressive Inez
that there was no room in them for the stolid and matter-of-fact Janee. At
any rate she proved to be the pea that would not come out of the pod.</p>
<p>Often in my life I have felt terrified, not being by nature one of those
who rejoices in dangers and wild adventures for their own sake, which only
the stupid do, but who has, on the contrary, been forced to undertake them
by the pressure of circumstances, a kind of hydraulic force that no one
can resist, and who, having undertaken, has been carried through them,
triumphing over the shrinkings of his flesh by some secret reserve of
nerve power. Almost am I tempted to call it spirit-power, something that
lives beyond and yet inspires our frail and fallible bodies.</p>
<p>Well, rarely have I been more frightened than I was at this moment.
Actually I hung back until I saw that Hans slithering through the grass
like a thick yellow snake with the great knife in his right hand, was
quite a foot ahead of me. Then my pride came to the rescue and I spurted,
if one can spurt upon one's stomach, and drew level with him. After this
we went at a pace so slow that any able-bodied snail would have left us
standing still. Inch by inch we crept forward, lying motionless a while
after each convulsive movement, once for quite a long time, since the
left-hand cannibal seemed about to wake up, for he opened his mouth and
yawned. If so, he changed his mind and rolling from a sitting posture on
to his side, went to sleep much more soundly than before.</p>
<p>A minute or so later the right-hand ruffian, my man, also stirred, so
sharply that I thought he had heard something. Apparently, however, he was
only haunted by dreams resulting from an evil life, or perhaps by the
prescience of its end, for after waving his arm and muttering something in
a frightened voice, he too, wearied out, poor devil, sank back into sleep.</p>
<p>At last we were on them, but paused because we could not see exactly where
to strike and knew, each of us, that our first blow must be the last and
fatal. A cloud had come up and dimmed what light there was, and we must
wait for it to pass. It was a long wait, or so it seemed.</p>
<p>At length that cloud did pass and in faint outline I saw the classical
head of my Amahagger bowed in deep sleep. With a heart beating as it does
only in the fierce extremities of love or war, I hissed like a snake,
which was our agreed signal. Then rising to my knees, I lifted the Zulu
axe and struck with all my strength.</p>
<p>The blow was straight and true; Umslopogaas himself could not have dealt a
better. The victim in front of me uttered no sound and made no movement;
only sank gently on to his side, and there lay as dead as though he had
never been born.</p>
<p>It appeared that Hans had done equally well, since the other man kicked
out his long legs, which struck me on the knees. Then he also became
strangely still. In short, both of them were stone dead and would tell no
stories this side of Judgment Day.</p>
<p>Recovering my axe, which had been wrenched from my hand, I crept forward
and opened the curtain-like rugs or blankets, I do not know which they
were, that covered Inez. I heard her stir at once. The movement had
wakened her, since captives sleep lightly.</p>
<p>"Make no noise, Inez," I whispered. "It is I, Allan Quatermain, come to
rescue you. Slip out and follow me; do you understand?"</p>
<p>"Yes, quite," she whispered back and began to rise.</p>
<p>At this moment a blood-curdling yell seemed to fill earth and heaven, a
yell at the memory of which even now I feel faint, although I am writing
years after its echoes died away.</p>
<p>I may as well say at once that it came from Janee who, awaking suddenly,
had perceived against the background of the sky, Hans standing over her,
looking like a yellow devil with a long knife in his hand, which she
thought was about to be used to murder her.</p>
<p>So, lacking self-restraint, she screamed in the most lusty fashion, for
her lungs were excellent, and—the game was up.</p>
<p>Instantly every man sleeping round the fire leapt to his feet and rushed
in the direction of the echoes of Janee's yell. It was impossible to get
Inez free of her tent arrangement or to do anything, except whisper to
her,</p>
<p>"Feign sleep and know nothing. We will follow you. Your father is with
us."</p>
<p>Then I bolted back into the bushes, which Hans had reached already.</p>
<p>A minute or two later when we were clear of the hubbub and nearing our own
camp, Hans remarked to me sententiously,</p>
<p>"The Great Medicine worked well, Baas, but not quite well enough, for what
medicine can avail against a woman's folly?"</p>
<p>"It was our own folly we should blame," I answered. "We ought to have
known that fool-girl would shriek, and taken precautions."</p>
<p>"Yes, Baas, we ought to have killed her too, for nothing else would have
kept her quiet," replied Hans in cheerful assent. "Now we shall have to
pay for our mistake, for the hunt must go on."</p>
<p>At this moment we stumbled across Robertson and Umslopogaas who, with the
others, and every living thing within a mile or two had also heard Janee's
yell, and briefly told our story. When he learned how near we had been to
rescuing his daughter, Robertson groaned, but Umslopogaas only said,</p>
<p>"Well, there are two less of the men-eaters left to deal with. Still, for
once your wisdom failed you, Macumazahn. When you had found the camp you
should have returned, so that we might all attack it together. Had we done
so, before the dawn there would not have been one of them left."</p>
<p>"Yes," I answered, "I think that my wisdom did fail me, if I have any to
fail. But come; perhaps we may catch them yet."</p>
<p>So we advanced, Hans and I showing the road. But when we reached the place
it was too late, for all that remained of the Amahagger, or of Inez and
Janee, were the two dead men whom we had killed, and in that darkness
pursuit was impossible. So we went back to our own camp to rest and await
the dawn before taking up the trail, only to find ourselves confronted
with a new trouble. All the Strathmuir half-breeds whom we had left behind
as useless, had taken advantage of our absence and that of the Zulus, to
desert. They had just bolted back upon our tracks and vanished into the
sea of bush. What became of them I do not know, as we never saw them
again, but my belief is that these cowardly fellows all perished, for
certainly not one of them reached Strathmuir.</p>
<p>Fortunately for us, however, they departed in such a hurry that they left
all their loads behind them, and even some of the guns they carried.
Evidently Janee's yell was the last straw which broke the back of such
nerve as remained to them. Doubtless they believed it to be the signal of
attack by hordes of cannibals.</p>
<p>As there was nothing to said or done, since any pursuit of these curs was
out of the question, we made the best of things as they were. It proved a
simple business. From the loads we selected such articles as were
essential, ammunition for the most part, to carry ourselves—and the
rest we abandoned, hiding it under a pile of stones in case we should ever
come that way again.</p>
<p>The guns they had thrown aside we distributed among the Zulus who had
none, though the thought that they possessed them, so far as I was
concerned, added another terror to life. The prospect of going into battle
with those wild axemen letting off bullets in every direction was not
pleasant, but fortunately when that crisis came, they cast them away and
reverted to the weapons to which they were accustomed.</p>
<p>Now all this sounds much like a tale of disaster, or at any rate of
failure. It is, however, wonderful by what strange ways good results are
brought about, so much so that at times I think that these seeming
accidents must be arranged by an Intelligence superior to our own, to
fulfil through us purposes of which we know nothing, and frequently, be it
admitted, of a nature sufficiently obscure. Of course this is a fatalistic
doctrine, but then, as I have said before, within certain limits I am a
fatalist.</p>
<p>To take the present case, for instance, the whole Inez episode at first
sight might appear to be an excrescence on my narrative, of which the
object is to describe how I met a certain very wonderful woman and what I
heard and experienced in her company. Yet it is not really so, since had
it not been for the Inez adventure, it is quite clear that I should never
have reached the home of this woman, if woman she were, or have seen her
at all. Before long this became very obvious to me, as shall be told.</p>
<p>From the night upon which Hans and I failed to rescue Inez we had no more
difficulty in following the trail of the cannibals, who thenceforward were
never more than a few hours ahead of us and had no time to be careful or
to attempt to hide their spoor. Yet so fast did they travel that do what
we would, burdened and wearied as we were, it proved impossible to
overtake them.</p>
<p>For the first three days the track ran on through scattered, rolling
bush-veld of the character that I have described, but tending continually
down hill. When we broke camp on the morning of the fourth day, eating a
hasty meal at dawn (for now game had become astonishingly plentiful, so
that we did not lack food) the rising sun showed beneath us an endless sea
of billowy mist stretching in every direction far as the sight could
carry.</p>
<p>To the north, however, it did come to an end, for there, as I judged fifty
or sixty miles away, rose the grim outline of what looked like a huge
fortress, which I knew must be one of those extraordinary mountain
formations, probably owing their origin to volcanic action, that are to be
met with here and there in the vast expanses of Central and Eastern
Africa. Being so distant it was impossible to estimate its size, which I
guessed must be enormous, but in looking at it I bethought me of that
great mountain in which Zikali said the marvellous white Queen lived, and
wondered whether it could be the same, as from my memory of his map upon
the ashes, it well might be, that is, if such a place existed at all. If
so the map had shown it as surrounded by swamps and—well, surely
that mist hid the face of a mighty swamp?</p>
<p>It did indeed, since before nightfall, following the spoor of those
Amahagger, we had plunged into a morass so vast that in all my experience
I have never seen or heard of its like. It was a veritable ocean of
papyrus and other reeds, some of them a dozen or more feet high, so that
it was impossible to see a yard in any direction.</p>
<p>Here it was that the Amahagger ahead of us proved our salvation, since
without them to guide us we must soon have perished. For through that
gigantic swamp there ran a road, as I think an ancient road, since in one
or two places I saw stone work which must have been laid by man. Yet it
was not a road which it would have been possible to follow without a
guide, seeing that it also was overgrown with reeds. Indeed, the only
difference between it and the surrounding swamp was that on the road the
soil was comparatively firm, that is to say, one seldom sank into it above
the knee, whereas on either side of it quagmires were often apparently
bottomless, and what is more, partook of the nature of quicksand.</p>
<p>This we found out soon after we entered the swamp, since Robertson,
pushing forward with the fierce eagerness which seemed to consume him,
neglected to keep his eye upon the spoor and stepped off the edge on to
land that appeared to be exactly similar to its surface. Instantly he
began to sink in greasy and tenacious mud. Umslopogaas and I were only
twenty yards behind, yet by the time we reached him in answer to his
shouts, already he was engulfed up to his middle and going down so rapidly
that in another minute he would have vanished altogether. Well, we got him
out but not with ease, for that mud clung to him like the tentacles of an
octopus. After this we were more careful.</p>
<p>Nor did this road run straight; on the contrary, it curved about and
sometimes turned at right angles, doubtless to avoid a piece of swamp over
which it had proved impossible for the ancients to construct a causeway,
or to follow some out-crop of harder soil beneath.</p>
<p>The difficulties of that horrible place are beyond description, and indeed
can scarcely be imagined. First there was that of a kind of grass which
grew among the roots of the reeds and had edges like to those of knives.
As Robertson and I wore gaiters we did not suffer so much from it, but the
poor Zulus with their bare legs were terribly cut about and in some cases
lame.</p>
<p>Then there were the mosquitoes which lived here by the million and all
seemed anxious for a bite; also snakes of a peculiarly deadly kind were
numerous. A Zulu was bitten by one of them of so poisonous a nature that
he died within three minutes, for the venom seemed to go straight to his
heart. We threw his body into the swamp, where it vanished at once.</p>
<p>Lastly there was the all-pervading stench and the intolerable heat of the
place, since no breath of air could penetrate that forest of reeds, while
a minor trouble was that of the multitude of leeches which fastened on to
our bodies. By looking one could see the creatures sitting on the under
side of leaves with their heads stretched out waiting to attack anything
that went by. As wayfarers there could not have been numerous, I wondered
what they had lived on for the last few thousand years. By the way, I
found that paraffin, of which we had a small supply for our hand-lamps,
rubbed over all exposed surfaces, was to some extent a protection against
these blood-sucking worms and the gnats, although it did make one go about
smelling like a dirty oil tin.</p>
<p>During the day, except for the occasional rush of some great iguana or
other reptile, and the sound of the wings of the flocks of wildfowl
passing over us from time to time, the march was deathly silent. But at
night it was different, for then the bull-frogs boomed incessantly, as did
the bitterns, while great swamp owls and other night-flying birds uttered
their weird cries. Also there were mysterious sucking noises caused, no
doubt, by the sinking of areas of swamp, with those of bursting bubbles of
foul, up-rushing gas.</p>
<p>Strange lights, too, played about, will-o'-the-wisps or St. Elmo fires, as
I believe they are called, that frightened the Zulus very much, since they
believed them to be spirits of the dead. Perhaps this superstition had
something to do with their native legend that mankind was "torn out of the
reeds." If so, they may have imagined that the ghosts of men went back to
the reeds, of which there were enough here to accommodate those of the
entire Zulu nation. Any way they were much scared; even the bold
witch-doctor, Goroko, was scared and went through incantations with the
little bag of medicines he carried to secure protection for himself and
his companions. Indeed, I think even the iron Umslopogaas himself was not
as comfortable as he might have been, although he did inform me that he
had come out to fight and did not care whether it were with man, or
wizard, or spirit.</p>
<p>In short, of all the journeys that I have made, with the exception of the
passage of the desert on our way to King Solomon's Mines, I think that
through this enormous swamp was the most miserable. Heartily did I curse
myself for ever having undertaken such a quest in a wild attempt to allay
that sickness, or rather to quench that thirst of the soul which, I
imagine, at times assails most of those who have hearts and think or
dream.</p>
<p>For this was at the bottom of the business: this it was which had
delivered me into the hands of Zikali, Opener-of-Roads, who, as now I am
sure, was merely making use of me for his private occult purposes. He
desired to consult the distant Oracle, if such a person existed, as to
great schemes of his own, and therefore, to attain his end, made use of my
secret longings which I had been so foolish as to reveal to him, quite
careless of what happened to me in the process. [A bit narrow and
uncharitable, this view. It seems to me that Zikali is taking a big risk
in giving him the Great Medicine.—JB]</p>
<p>Well, I was in for the business and must follow it to the finish whatever
that might be. After all it was very interesting and if there were
anything in what Zikali said (if there were not I could not conceive what
object he had in sending me on such a wild-goose chase through this home
of geese and ducks), it might become more interesting still. For being
pretty well fever-proof I did not think I should die in that morass, as of
course nine white men out of ten would have done, and, beyond it lay the
huge mountain which day by day grew larger and clearer.</p>
<p>Nor did Hans, who, with a childlike trust, pinned his faith to the Great
Medicine. This, he remarked, was the worst veld through which he had ever
travelled, but as the Great Medicine would never consent to be buried in
that stinking mud, he had no doubt that we should come safely through it
some time. I replied that this wonderful medicine of his had not saved one
of our companions who had now made a grave in the same mud.</p>
<p>"No, Baas," he said, "but those Zulus have nothing to do with the Medicine
which was given to you, and to me who accompanied you when we saw the
Opener-of-Roads. Therefore perhaps they will all die, except Umslopogaas,
whom you were told to take with you. If so, what does it matter, since
there are plenty of Zulus, although there be but one Macumazahn or one
Hans? Also the Baas may remember that he began by offending a snake and
therefore it is quite natural that this snake's brother should have bitten
the Zulu."</p>
<p>"If you are right, he should have bitten me, Hans."</p>
<p>"Yes, Baas, and so no doubt he would have done had you not been protected
by the Great Medicine, and me too had not my grandfather been a
snake-charmer, to say nothing of the smell of the Medicine being on me as
well. The snakes know those that they should bite, Baas."</p>
<p>"So do the mosquitoes," I answered, grabbing a handful of them. "The Great
Medicine has no effect upon them."</p>
<p>"Oh! yes, Baas, it has, since though it pleases them to bite, the bites do
us no harm, or at least not much, and all are made happy. Still, I wish we
could get out of these reeds of which I never want to see another, and
Baas, please keep your rifle ready for I think I hear a crocodile stirring
there."</p>
<p>"No need, Hans," I remarked sarcastically. "Go and tell him that I have
the Great Medicine."</p>
<p>"Yes, Baas, I will; also that if he is very hungry, there are some Zulus
camped a few yards further down the road," and he went solemnly to the
reeds a little way off and began to talk to them.</p>
<p>"You infernal donkey!" I murmured, and drew my blanket over my head in a
vain attempt to keep out the mosquitoes and smoking furiously with the
same object, tried to get to sleep.</p>
<p>At last the swamp bottom began to slope upwards a little, with the result
that as the land dried through natural drainage, the reeds grew thinner by
degrees, until finally they ceased and we found ourselves on firmer
ground; indeed, upon the lowest slopes of the great mountain that I have
mentioned, that now towered above us, forbidden and majestic.</p>
<p>I had made a little map in my pocket-book of the various twists and turns
of the road through that vast Slough of Despond, marking them from hour to
hour as we followed its devious wanderings. On studying this at the end of
that part of our journey I realised afresh how utterly impossible it would
have been for us to thread that misty maze where a few false steps would
always have meant death by suffocation, had it not been for the spoor of
those Amahagger travelling immediately ahead of us who were acquainted
with its secrets. Had they been friendly guides they could not have done
us a better turn.</p>
<p>What I wondered was why they had not tried to ambush us in the reeds,
since our fires must have shown them that we were close upon their heels.
That they did try to burn us out was clear from certain evidences that I
found, but fortunately at this season of the year in the absence of a
strong wind the rank reeds were too green to catch fire. For the rest I
was soon to learn the reason of their neglect to attack us in that dense
cover.</p>
<p>They were waiting for a better opportunity!</p>
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