Browncore Emojis & Text

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  ╱▔▔▔▔╲  ╱  ╭┈  ╲╮  ▏       ▔▔╲ ╱╳╲   ▍ ▍   ╲ ▏╳╳▏     ╭━╮▕ ▏╳╳▏ ▏   ╰━╯▕ ╲▂╱╲ ╲      ╱    ▕▃▃▔▔▔▔▔▔    ╱  ╲  ╭┓▏▏ ▕  ┃╰▏▏ ▕  ╰╭ ▏ Snoopy
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- BROWN, Arthur; froze to death in last snowstorm; WB 1897 May 13; --------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- BROWN, Clarence; r: Grant NE C. BROWN, Lyle; b ca1925; r: Grant NE .....d 1945 Jun, Sunk in Japanesse prison ship; POW; IR 1945 Jul 5 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- BROWN, E. R.; r: Palisade C. BROWN, Opal, b ca1921; .......badly injured, auto accident, N of Palisade; 1938; (I130) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- BROWN, Otie (Ota), Miss; d 1896 Apr 29, exposure; RF; ifa4-5; Cct 1906 Apr 27 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

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ʚ♡ɞ 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧. 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ༊*·˚
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https://s1.sos.mo.gov/records/archives/archivesdb/BirthDeath/Default.aspx#searchDB
http://www.irelandoldnews.com/Galway/1909/APR.html ---------- Two youths, Thomas Kelly, 17, and Laurence Curley, 16, in a spirit of play, started to throw potatoes at each other in a Galway potato field. The first named chanced to hit Curley on the back of the head, from the effects of which he died. Kelly, who was brought up at the Galway Assizes charged with his companion's death, was released by Judge Johnson after five minutes' detention. ----------
🇺🇸 https://s1.sos.mo.gov/records/archives/archivesdb/BirthDeath/Default.aspx#searchDB 🇺🇸
🇺🇸 https://s1.sos.mo.gov/records/archives/archivesmvc/deathcertificates 🇺🇸 https://s1.sos.mo.gov/records/archives/archivesdb/birthdeath/#searchdb 🇺🇸
⠀⠀⠠⠄⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⡠⠤⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⣀⡠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡖⠋⠉⠉⠻⡒⠈⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠔⠉⠁⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠠⣴⣦⣧⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⢀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠈⢂⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢳⣿⣿⣿⣄⠄⠉⠁⡔⠞⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⡀ ⣐⣺⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⣼⣿⣿⡿⠀⠤⠤⠤⠏⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢆⠀⠀⡡ ⠈⠋⠈⠒⠦⠤⠤⠒⠒⠒⠒⠧⣻⡿⠟⠳⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠔⠑⠒⠊⠀⠁⠂⠁
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡤⠤⣤⣀⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⢻⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠦⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠲⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠶⠶⠄⠰⠞⠉⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀ ⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡄ ⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇ ⢸⠃⣾⣷⣄⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣾⢰⣿⣿⣿⣧⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⢠⠇ ⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢳⠀⠀⠀⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⢦⣤⣼⣋⢳⣾⠃⢀⣠⠏⠀ ⢻⡄⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣦⣤⣤⢤⡇⠀⢿⠀⢸⡟⠁⡟⠋⠁⠀⠀ ⠘⣷⡘⢿⣿⣿⡟⣸⠟⠲⠦⣄⠀⠈⠉⠙⣇⣀⡀⠀⠀⠘⠉⡷⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠻⢦⣬⣥⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⣰⡁⢈⡟⠀⢠⡤⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢿⠟⠉⠉⣷⡾⠁⠀⢸⠇⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠀⠛⣪⣭⡀⠀⠀⡾⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢁⣀⡾⠁⠀⠙⣦⣼⡧⢾⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⢹⡇⠠⠞⠉⠙⣇⠀⠁⠙⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠁⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠴⠖⢻⡄⠚⠛⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠋⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⣤⣤⣤⣼⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠴⠖⠉⣽⠟⠓⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠟⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⡀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣄⡠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠴⠶⠶⠶⠦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣤⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠦⣤⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠛⠶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡟⠀⡀⢦⡠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⠁⣼⢻⣮⣿⣿⣆⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣟⢸⣿⢿⣿⣿⡟⣿⡄⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⢤⣄⠀ ⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣷⢸⡆ ⠀⠹⣆⢻⣇⣿⣿⣾⣹⠇⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠟⠛⠗⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠹⢦⣙⠻⠿⠟⢉⣴⠷⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠒⢤⣤⣤⡤⡤⠤⠶⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠶⠤⠴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠉⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠋⠉⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡷⠶⠶⠶⢿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⣤⣄⠀⢀⡤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⡇⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⣈⣳⡋⠀⠀⣹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⣀⣹⡄⠀⢀⣸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣶⡇⢰⣀⣼⣃⣘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⢸⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣾⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢤⣒⡉⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⣀⣠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠈⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠳⠖⠶⠖⠛⠽⠪⠡⠶⠤⠤⠠⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠨⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠽⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠚⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣤⠶⠛⠉⠉⠉⠛⠲⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣯⣭⡉⠉⠉⠉⢓⡢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠾⠯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠈⠙⠻⣟⡒⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠖⠒⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣦⠶⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢠⣦⣧⣶⣹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢣⣿⡿⣻⣿⣧⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠃⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⢸⣧⣀⡤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⡴⠛⠿⠍⠙⠲⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣼⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡿⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠬⠛⡆ ⢰⣡⣤⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⡟⠀⠀⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡇ ⠘⢿⣿⠟⠙⠳⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣼⡔⣿⣿⣿⡿⣛⣵⣿⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠾⣄⣀⣀⣠⡼⠁⠈⠳⢤⣤⡤⠾⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠻⢮⣭⠵⠞⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠉⠛⠋⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
https://vault.georgiaarchives.org/digital/collection/gadeaths/search
http://www.kykinfolk.com/muhlenberg/death-certificates/dc-index.htm
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Tʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-Tʀᴇᴀᴛ /sʜᴏʀᴛsᴄᴀʀʏsᴛᴏʀɪᴇs GᴜʏAᴡᴋs Tʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-Tʀᴇᴀᴛ “Is ᴛʜɪs ʏᴏᴜʀ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, Jᴀɴᴇᴛ? Yᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ sᴏɴ Eᴅᴅʏ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ!” Mʏ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏᴜʀ Yᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇ ʙᴇᴀᴍs ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴀᴅᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪɴɪsʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʙᴡᴇʙs ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴍɪɴɪᴠᴀɴ’s ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏ. Aʟʟ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴛ ɪs ᴀ sᴇᴀ ᴏғ sɪᴍɪʟᴀʀ Hᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀ ɪɴ ᴄᴀʀ ʙᴏᴏᴛs, ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴀs ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ᴀs ʜᴇʀs. “Yᴇs” I ᴀɴsᴡᴇʀ, ᴀᴅᴊᴜsᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏsᴛ ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄᴀʀ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ. “Mʏ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ.” “Oʜ ɪᴛ’s sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ. Iɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴋɪᴅs ᴅᴏᴏʀ-ᴛᴏ-ᴅᴏᴏʀ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ, ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʀs ɪɴ ᴀ ʟᴏᴄᴀʟ ᴄʜᴜʀᴄʜ ᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋs. Lɪғᴇ’s ᴀʟʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛɪɴɢ.” Eᴅᴅʏ ʙᴏʙs ɪɴ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴏsᴛᴜᴍᴇ. Eᴀɢᴇʀ, ʜᴇ sᴇᴛs ᴏғғ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴛʜᴇ sᴘᴏᴏᴋɪʟʏ ᴅᴇᴄᴏʀᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍɪɴɪᴠᴀɴs ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪᴅs ʟɪɴɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴄᴀɴᴅʏ. “Tʜɪs ᴅᴏᴇs sᴇᴇᴍ ғᴜɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴅs, Yᴠᴇᴛᴛᴇ” I ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏᴜʀ ᴡʜɪʟsᴛ sʜᴇ ᴘᴀssᴇs ᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇs. “Bᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ sᴀғᴇ ɪs ᴛʜɪs? Wɪᴛʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀs’ ᴄᴀʀs…” “Hᴏɴᴇʏ, ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ɪs ᴍᴜᴄʜ sᴀғᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʀɪᴄᴋ-ᴏʀ- ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ!” sʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀssᴜʀᴇs ᴍᴇ. Sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴʟʏ, I ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴀ ᴄᴀʀ ʙᴏᴏᴛ sʟᴀᴍᴍɪɴɢ sʜᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴ ᴇɴɢɪɴᴇ ʀᴏᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟɪғᴇ. Tʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ SUV ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴛ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ʙᴇɢɪɴs ʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʏ. Eᴅᴅʏ ɪs ɴᴏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ sᴇᴇɴ. “Hᴇʏ!” I sᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ. Eᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ sᴘɪɴs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ I’ᴍ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ SUV ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡs ᴇʀʀᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ. Wɪᴛʜ ᴀ sᴄʀᴇᴇᴄʜ ɪᴛ ɢᴏᴇs ᴛᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴘᴀsᴛ ᴜs. Aᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴜɴᴋ-ᴏʀ-ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛs ʙᴇɢɪɴ sʜᴏᴜᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍʏsᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ᴠᴀɴ ᴀs ɪᴛ ғʟᴇᴇs, ᴀʟʟ ᴡʜɪʟsᴛ ғʀᴀɴᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ᴀʀᴇ sᴀғᴇ. “Is ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴍɪssɪɴɢ?!” Aᴍɪᴅsᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀᴏs, I ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ Eᴅᴅʏ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. I ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ɪɴ ʀᴇʟɪᴇғ ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴀ ʙɪɢ ʜᴜɢ. “Aʟʟ ᴅᴏɴᴇ—ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ” ʜᴇ ᴡʜɪsᴘᴇʀs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ ғɪᴇɴᴅɪsʜʟʏ. I sᴍɪʟᴇ ᴀ ғɪᴇɴᴅɪsʜ sᴍɪʟᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ. Tʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴘᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴠᴀɴ, ᴅʀɪᴠᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴍʏ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ, ᴡᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ᴅɪsᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. Iᴛ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴍʏ sᴏɴ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀs ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʙʀᴀᴋᴇ ʟɪɴᴇs. Tᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʜᴇʟᴘʟᴇss ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇs ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍsᴇʟᴠᴇs sᴍᴀsʜɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴇᴇs ɪɴsᴛᴇᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴅɪɢɢɪɴɢ ɪɴᴛᴏ sᴡᴇᴇᴛs.
Cavan Observer Published in Cavan, county Cavan September 4, 1858 AWFUL ACCIDENT.--On Sunday morning, a woman named Emily WYNDHAM, came by a most sudden and lamentable death in her residence, Bond-street. The poor woman had been standing on a stool, in her own kitchen, reaching for something on the top of a press, when the stool gave way from beneath her, and she fell on her head on a cradle beside where she had been standing, and, sad to say, broke her neck. She expired in a few minutes after the dreadful accident. The unfortunate woman was the wife of a labouring man, and has left six children, the youngest being three months old.--"Belfast News-Letter."
The Cork Examiner, 1 May 1846 CORONER'S INQUEST—INHUMAN CONDUCT A SWEEP ROASTED ALIVE An inquest was held on Sunday, at Barrington's Hospital, on the body of Michael O'Brien, a chimney sweep aged eight years, who was burned to death in the flue of a chimney in Patrick-street, on Saturday evening, which he was forced to descend by his master, Michael Sullivan, although the chimney had been on fire since early in the afternoon. The body of the unfortunate creature presented an awful appearance, being literally roasted and mangled. We subjoin the evidence of the witnesses which will speak for itself— Thomas Costelloe, of Garryowen, labourer, deposed that he was in Mr. Mathew Ryan's house, in Patrick-street, on Saturday evening, where he saw two sweeps, Michael Sullivan (master) and Michael O'Brien (apprentice) aged eight years ; was present when Sullivan compelled the climbing boy to ascend the chimney ; shortly after being sent up, the boy cried out, he was burning, and Sullivan called him down ; Sullivan then brought the boy up to the top of the house, and directed him to go down through the chimney, which he did ; in about two hours after, witness saw Michael O'Brien taken out of the chimney dead ; deceased had objected to go down the chimney, upon which Sullivan seized him by the arms and forced him up stairs ; heard Mr. Ryan desire Sullivan not to send the boy up the chimney if there was any danger. Catherine Ryan, servant in the house, sworn—I heard Sullivan desire the little boy go up Mr. Ryan's chimney for the purpose of cleaning it ; in about 15 minutes after I heard the boy cry in the flue, and say he was burning ; he then came down the chimney, and Sullivan caught hold of him by the leg, and pulled him into the grate of the fire-place ; he beat the boy with a leather belt so severely, that the little fellow threw himself on his knees, and said I will go to the top of the house, and come down through the chimney ; I saw Sullivan seize him by the arm, and carry him up stairs to the top of the house ; the boy was subsequently taken out of the chimney dead. The jury returned the following verdict—“Michael O'Brien came to his death from the effects of heat and suffocation, in consequence of having been forced to descend a chimney in Mr. Ryan's house, Patrick-street by Michael Sullivan.” The monster who was the cause of the boy's death has absconded. —Limerick Chronicle. Submitted by dja
🇮🇪 MAN CUT IN TWO ON RAILWAY Stephen Folan, who belonged to the Naval Reserve, was found terribly mangled on Sunday morning on the railway line between Craughwell and Athenry. He was returning from a course of naval training at Kinsale, and had £20 in his possession. It is surmised that he left the train at Craughwell, the next station to Athenry, and finding that it had departed on his return, he proceeded to walk along the permanent way to Athenry with a view to catching the Galway train. Apparently he was overtaken by a subsequent train and killed. The Tuam Herald, Saturday, April 3, 1909 Tuam, Co Galway 🇮🇪
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*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⠛⠶⢤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠴⠶⠶⠶⠶⡏⠀⠀⡄⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⢹⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠖⠋⠁⠀⠠⠀⠀⠐⠀⣀⠀⢻⣦⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠶⠶⢶⡋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠣⠈⢿⣧⠐⠄⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠈⣿⣆⠈⠂⠀⣠⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡞⡀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⢸⣿⣷⡶⣾⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⣧⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⣾⣿⣿⣧⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⢿⠻⣴⣾⣿⣿⣦⡐⡄⠀⢀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣟⣿⠟⣾⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⣑⠠⣀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡇⣸⠀⠀⠣⠀⠀⠘⠿⣯⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣶⣄⡁⠀⢀⡾⡆⠀⠙⣿⠿⠚⣡⡇⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣄⠀⠙⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣺⠴⠋⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⢿⣅⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠓⠀⠀⣿⡓⠋⠉⠉⡿⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡶⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢶⣤⣤⣀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠙⠿⠶⠷⠞⠁⠀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⡏⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠈⠙⢷⣅⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⢖⣶⠖⠚⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠍⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠢⠀⠀⠉⠛⠒⠛⠉⠉⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⡫⢠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣸⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠙⢡⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⢀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢸⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠁⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⡀⣀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⠸⡄⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⡋⡈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠖⠋⢉⠻⣷⣆⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢸⣇⣶⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠴⢂⡴⠟⠛⠻⢷⣄⠀⢀⠄⠀⡇⢨⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⣼⠋⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⢹⡶⠋⠀⢸⠁⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⠀⢿⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠸⣫⡉⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⡀⠀⠉⣿⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠻⣶⡑⣸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⢀⣀⣀⠈⠁⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡾⠋⠙⣷⢸⡍⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠶⠶⠖⠛⠺⠿⠉⠉⢻⠆⠉⠐⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠞⠋⠁⠀⢀⣀⣽⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⡀⠒⠁⡀⠀⢠⣿⣄⣀⣀⣀⣤⡞⠋⣀⣠⣴⠴⠞⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡞⡇⠀⣀⢀⣠⣂⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⢀⣀⣠⠟⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢳⣏⠐⢿⡏⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠛⠳⢤⣽⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠔⢊⣩⣭⡐⠳⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠊⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠍⠒⢄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⣠⡼⢿⣿⣿⡿⠉⠻⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠱⡄ ⠀⢀⢎⣶⣎⡇⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠃ ⢠⣾⢸⣿⣿⣞⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡆ ⠻⢹⣸⣿⣿⣿⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠞⠀ ⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⡿⣸⠤⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠔⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⡠⢔⠒⡯⣓⣚⣁⣀⣀⣈⣷⣤⣴⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠧⡈⠀⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠻⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠰⣇⣰⠛⠦⠤⠤⠤⢤⠀⢀⣺⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢸⣿⣿⢿⠿⣾⣱⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠤⢼⡿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠈⠦⡀⠀⢀⣠⠂⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠒⠛⠀⠈⢅⠠⡈⠑⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⠈⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠒⠒⠲⢤⡀⡔⢋⣑⣒⠦⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡠⠋⣠⣶⣿⣿⣦⡙⣿⠜⢿⣿⣿⣦⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⢃⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣱⠏⢳⢦⣭⣽⣻⣤⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡀⠫⢟⣟⣛⢁⡼⠋⠉⠛⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠉⠉⠉⠉⠓⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⢟⣿⠦⢤⡤⠖⠋⢀⣤⠴⠦⣄⠀⡤⠶⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀ ⠿⣞⡟⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⠀ ⠀⠈⢧⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣾⣷⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧ ⠀⠀⠸⡀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⣠⠁⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⡖⠚⠁⠀⠀⢹⡀⠀⡼⠘⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⢳⠀⠀⢀⠏ ⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡀⠹⢄⡞⠀⠙⡖⠤⠤⡤⠤⠤⢤⠒⠊⢹⣄⣜⡠⠖⠁⠀ ⠈⠳⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⢳⣄⠀⠉⠙⠚⠢⠤⠴⢧⡤⠴⠚⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠒⢦⡀⠀⠀⢰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠶⠿⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡕⠊⠁⠱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠰⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠅⣷⡗⡳⣌⡳⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⢖⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢲⣶⣟⣷⣿⣷⠒⠀⠉⠌⠉⠩⢍⢓⢖⣤⡤⡔⡶⣒⡲⡖⢲⠖⡪⢍⠴⡚⠥⡠⢎⡐⢵⣠⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⢂⣄⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠃⡐⠊⡀⠀⢨⠀⣽⢌⣿⢮⡧⣱⣵⡉⡞⣲⠯⠹⡔⢮⢲⣝⣷⡽⣾⣽⢶⠋⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢾⣿⣿⣿⠏⠁⣄⠤⢰⣼⣴⢤⢸⣤⢿⡞⣟⣧⣯⡾⢮⢎⡵⠅⠭⢞⡫⣷⣛⠿⣿⣿⡽⣯⡼⣆⡀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⡾⡱⣈⣿⣹⣸⣹⡿⢏⣿⣿⣸⣏⣎⣏⢷⣀⡈⣾⣉⣷⣏⣿⣹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⡷⣀⠀⠀⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡠⡱⢪⣽⣿⣿⡯⣂⠋⡰⠴⣛⣛⠟⠛⢟⡸⣿⣽⣺⣽⡝⣞⣿⣖⣼⣷⣿⣿⡿⠶⣍⠞⣿⣾⢿⣿⣿⡿⣝⣞⣲⠦⣄⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣐⣂⣥⣾⢋⠖⣡⣿⣿⣿⡿⡰⢊⣜⣾⣿⣿⣿⣾⢐⣾⣪⣹⢿⣵⣿⣗⣇⠷⣷⡻⣷⣡⣿⣾⣷⣾⣿⣜⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡖⣪⢷⣜⡕⢦⡀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠠⣐⣯⣳⣿⣽⡖⡉⢆⣿⣿⣿⡿⢃⠀⣾⢧⢻⣽⣿⣿⣧⢸⡹⠟⡱⠶⢯⡙⠶⣙⢯⣟⡿⣟⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣶⡹⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠻⣿⣿⡶⣍⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡀⡴⢫⣜⣶⣯⡿⣯⢚⣼⢢⣿⣿⣿⣯⠖⣽⢋⠄⢚⣮⡛⢋⣠⡟⠏⠂⠈⠀⠡⢈⠒⠶⠉⣛⠿⣿⣿⡹⣿⣿⡯⢟⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⡁⢿⣿⣿⣏⠿⣕⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⢜⡰⣯⣾⣿⣿⢿⡷⣫⢗⡆⡿⣿⣿⣧⠿⢏⠐⡀⢰⠫⠐⠼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡅⢗⡀⢏⣿⣮⡳⢭⣭⢝⣻⣯⣽⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠚⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⡳⡌⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣻⡽⣿⣿⣻⣟⢧⣹⡿⣹⢱⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⢻⣇⠯⡄⠹⡗⠁⣀⡄⠊⠈⠁⠈⠉⠉⠒⢮⡂⠬⢜⣷⣿⡽⣾⣯⣿⣿⢟⡾⣱⢟⣿⣿⣿⡧⣻⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣽⢾⣟⣾⣿⡿⣺⡯⢶⡿⡬⣿⣿⡅⠀⠀⢈⡮⠟⡑⡿⠂⢜⠎⠀⣀⣄⠔⡰⡀⣤⣦⢤⡙⣾⡥⢚⣿⣿⡾⣿⢷⢯⡻⣜⣧⣛⣿⣿⡷⢹⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣱⣿⣿⣟⣳⣻⣽⣻⢷⡓⣿⣿⣇⠚⡔⠰⠁⠄⡘⠇⠀⢚⢀⣨⣿⡿⢈⣷⡽⣿⣿⣣⢷⣫⡞⣟⣾⣿⣟⣯⣛⢾⣳⣟⣮⢽⣿⣿⣳⢻⣿⣿⣞⣿⣿⣿⡻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣟⢚⣿⣷⢿⢣⣝⣞⡝⢮⠗⣼⣿⣷⣕⠀⡢⢊⠐⡽⠁⠀⠀⠡⡭⠁⣀⢯⡷⡖⣭⣟⣻⣟⡛⡾⣽⣏⡷⣿⣳⣍⢫⢷⣻⣞⣿⣻⣿⡣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣿⣿⡽⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢹⢀⠻⡼⣭⢳⢺⢾⡹⣏⡖⢻⣿⣿⣿⣾⣎⣠⡷⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢽⣷⣿⣮⣷⣿⣷⣿⢿⣻⣣⣟⡷⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣱⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⢯⣿⢳⠣⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⣦⡉⢒⢏⣮⣻⢣⢓⡜⣷⡩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠾⣸⠊⠄⠀⠀⢸⣸⢳⣸⣟⣿⡷⣟⣿⣮⢷⣷⣞⣷⣿⢮⣳⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⢾⣛⢾⡩⡖⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠣⡔⢺⢪⠶⣉⢞⡍⡶⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠸⣷⣄⠒⠆⡰⣑⣽⣺⣧⣿⣿⣿⣼⣷⣟⣿⣾⡿⣟⡿⣧⣷⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣟⣯⡟⠶⣷⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⢧⣳⢌⣲⢮⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢀⣿⣿⡦⣐⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣯⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣯⣷⢿⡽⣾⣹⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠨⣳⢯⣟⣿⣿⣿⣆⡆⡟⣗⣿⡼⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢧⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡽⣯⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡽⡶⣩⠟⠿⣵⢯⢣⢂⣿⡿⢴⢽⣞⢿⣿⣿⣯⣞⣽⡽⡿⣿⣽⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠘⣿⡽⣂⠰⣩⠷⢿⣬⠆⡏⣀⢹⣯⢿⣿⣾⣿⡎⣽⣷⣽⣣⢷⣿⠿⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣊⢶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡹⣿⢁⠏⡀⠎⣏⡸⢷⡀⡎⣉⢾⡏⣹⢿⣏⡹⣿⣷⣿⣹⣏⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡹⣎⣹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⢿⡹⣟⢶⢡⠈⠆⡑⠊⣿⡱⣙⣮⣽⣵⣿⣳⣼⣳⣻⢧⣛⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣽⡾⣽⢮⡽⢦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⢗⡩⢞⣆⡂⠐⡈⡐⢸⡾⣪⣷⣽⣳⣿⣸⣻⣾⣏⣳⣾⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣻⣿⡽⣯⢿⣽⣫⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡍⢳⡸⣴⠀⠀⠃⢄⣿⢞⢽⡾⣟⣿⡹⢯⣳⣾⠿⣯⠷⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡾⣷⣿⣿⣿⣽⣟⡾⣷⡽⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠤⣑⠆⠁⠀⠉⢆⣭⡾⠷⢋⢹⣿⢿⣿⢟⣿⡿⡦⣛⢯⣷⢿⡽⣯⠷⣟⣾⣿⣿⣿⡷⣯⣳⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣻⢷⣹⢳⢦⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠂⠼⢂⡴⢛⠉⠀⠀⡀⢊⠙⡁⢞⣽⢾⣿⢧⠑⣹⡮⢽⣯⢳⣭⢿⡞⣷⢿⣿⣽⣻⢥⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣯⣿⢯⡗⠮⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⡝⢧⣊⡔⠰⡈⠂⠥⢸⡛⢯⢟⡿⣌⠂⡐⢯⡗⡾⡱⢎⠏⢾⡹⢯⣟⢾⡱⣏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⣧⢟⡼⣭⢳⣝⢳⡌⢧⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⢛⠶⡡⢌⡑⠤⢉⠜⡹⢌⡩⢚⡱⠂⠀⡀⢜⣯⠵⣙⠊⠜⡘⣿⣫⢎⡷⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⢯⣛⡞⣳⢎⡷⣻⡌⢷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠍⠖⠡⢂⠜⣠⠇⣎⠱⢆⠱⣈⠒⠀⠠⠐⡘⡞⣿⡤⢁⠒⡀⢛⡱⢚⣷⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣿⡻⣟⢧⣿⣱⠿⣼⣳⡝⢮
http://www.usgwarchives.net/search/search.cgi/searchca.htm?q=&form=extended&ul=&t=ca&m=all&ps=50&fmt=long&wm=wrd&sp=1&sy=1&wf=2221&type=&GroupBySite=no&ul=%2F&ul=&ul=&ul=
https://genealogytrails.com/ind/johnson/1850mortality.html
BURROWS, Gurney Edwin, b 1912 Jan 31 Scottsbluff Co NE; IR 1971 Jul 1; .....d 1971 Jun 26, tractor accident, Dundy Co NE; Benkelman cem; IR 1971 Jul 1 pg 12 p: BURROWS, Oliver; m McDONALD, Gertrude m 1946 Sep 8 Paris France
BUEHLER, George d 1959 Jul 20, drown; IR 1959 Jul 30
--On Saturday last, Francis, the only son of Mr. MALLON, of Mullyards, came by his death under the following circumstances: Fastened to a beam in his father's house, the boy, who was just ten years old, had a swing, in which he used to seat himself by standing on a form. It appears that on this occasion there happened to be a halter thrown over the same beam. When the boy was about to adjust himself in the swing, the form on which he was standing upset, and in falling to the ground the headstall of the halter became entangled round his neck. There was no person in the house at the time; and the poor boy, unable to extricate himself, was almost immediately strangled. An inquest was held on the following day by Arthur R. KAY, Esq., coroner, and the jury returned a verdict in accordance with the facts.--"Armagh Guardian." http://www.irelandoldnews.com/Cavan/1858/SEP.html
🇮🇪 Cavan Weekly News Published in Cavan, county Cavan SUDDEN DEATH. On Saturday night last, a man named John FAULKNER, residing at Aghaloora, near Kinaleck, was choked by a piece of meat sticking in his throat. This accident is becoming frequent in this neighbourhood, a man named DOWDAL having lost his life the other day at Finea from a similar case. This ought to teach people that good digestion depends very much on proper mastication of our food. December 6, 1878 🇮🇪
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- BROWNING, Alford; d 1915 Mar 17, a4mo; mthc C29-E4; FR; .....d at home of BURTIS, George, Canby Pct, pneumonia; IR 1915 Mar 19; ifa24-5 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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꒰ঌ ໒꒱ ૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩
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⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛ ⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠒⠒⠲⠶⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢶⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠖⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀ ⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢠⠀⢳⡀ ⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣾⣧⠀⣇ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸ ⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡸ ⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢀⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠑⠢⠤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠹⣿⣿⡿⠃⡠⠊⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢧⡻⡋⢅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠊⠑⠤⠈⠡⠤⠊⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⡠⣃⡀⢀⣀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠟⠉⠁⠈⠉⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠖⠛⠉⡩⠤⠐⠒⠒⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⡀⠀⡎⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠄⠀⢲⣭⠙⠲⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣆⣀⣃⣀⣃⡀⠸⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣘⣀⣀⠘⠁⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠙⢦⡴⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣶⠿⠿⠷⠶⠶⢶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢶⠤⠤⢴⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠟⠛⠛⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠙⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⡟⢀⣼⣶⣶⣦⣐⠷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡯⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⣧⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣧⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⡀⣦⣠⣤⣀⣠⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⢧⡈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⠛⠷⣦⡀⢷⡏⠻⣿⠿⢻⡿⢿⢶⣶⢶⡶⠶⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⢤⣭⣉⣉⣩⡴⠟⠀⠀⣈⣿⠾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⣾⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠋⠡⠶⠶⠀⠶⢶⠀⢸⣿⣿⡵⠶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠈⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠷⢶⣤⣤⣤⣄⣠⡶⠋⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠋⠁⠀⠀⢀⣼⠛⠯⣝⣻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⢶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⡛⢡⣤⣰⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠃⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠟⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣾⣿⣭⣤⣤⠽⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣦⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢙⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠚⠉⠉⠉⠉⠓⠦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡷⠶⠖⠶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⢀⡴⠒⠲⣤⣀⣀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠉⠙⠓⠒⠦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⢸⣤⣽⠼⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⢸⠟⠛⠛⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠸⣄⣀⣀⣠⠎⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠐⢦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣷⡆⡸ ⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠔⠋⠙⠛⠋⠁ ⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣷⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢢⡀⢸⣇⠀⠶⣚⡭⠿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠿⢿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣠⠶⠒⠒⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⣁⣤⣶⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⣀⣸⣷⣶⣶⣧⠀⠀⣴⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⠃⠀⢀⡴⠚⠛⢦⣄⣀⡄⠀⠀⠀⢻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠏⠀⢀⡞⠀⣠⢤⡬⣿⢹⣧⣀⡴⠒⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠐⠉⠉⣿⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣼⠀⠀⠒⠒⠒⠶⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠔⠒⠉⠁⠀⠠⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠻⠶⠶⠶⠶⠤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣾⣯⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠒⠛⣋⣉⡛⠲⢿⣄⣀⣠⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠦⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢁⠀⣤⣶⠟⠻⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⢳⣿⣦⡹⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣶⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⢀⣼⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇ ⢠⣿⢿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠏⠀ ⠀⠉⠈⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠴⠞⠛⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣼⠗⠲⠦⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣤⣶⡛⢳⡮⢉⣛⣋⣁⣀⣀⣀⣀⡾⠓⠤⠤⠞⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠸⣄⠈⠉⢸⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠂⠤⠤⠤⠾⣟⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡇⠀⣸⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠓⠲⠋⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣧⣽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠤⠤⣿⣦⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⠐⠒⠛⠋⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠉⠉⠉⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣛⣶⡶⠚⠛⠓⠒⠒⠛⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠼⣯⣅⣖⣀⣒⣘⣙⣦⣈⣷⣀⣸⠇⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠊⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡌⢅⠲⢄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡘⠋⠁⣾⠀⠀⢣ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠽⢏⡉⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⣘⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⡠⠆⠰⢥⣀⠔⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠤⡿⠛⠋⠉⠉⠑⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠦⡤⠤⠤⠀⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⣖⡇⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣞⡀⠤⠐⠤⢀⡀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣄⠀⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⠇⠂⢤⠀⠠⣄⠒⠄⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⠎⠀⠁⠘⠀⠀⠈⠀⠈⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣮⠺⡍⡾⠋⡅⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠙⠢⢤⣤⣶⣴⠚⡇⠘⠦⠋⢀⠜⠀⠸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠉⡵⠚⡢⡤⠒⠃⢄⡀⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣳⡀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠠⡈⠂⠈⣿⣧⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣊⠕⡠⠀⡼⢓⠈⣉⠂⠄⠈⠲⡤⠮⠔⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠓⠒⠓⠣⠼⠥⠤⠤⠄⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⠶⢶⣶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⠶⣶⠶⠶⠶⠖⠚⠓⠶⠶⢶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡾⠀⣼⣷⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⠇⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡿⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡖⠶⣦⠀ ⢸⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⣀⢹⡆ ⢸⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⡀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁ ⢸⣇⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀ ⠈⣿⡀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣶⡾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣿⣄⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⠷⠶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⠟⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⢿⣦⣝⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢷⣦⣭⣍⣉⣡⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣆⢀⣀⣿⣧⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣶⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⣰⡿⢡⠆⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠤⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠒⠒⠒⠒⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠒⠒⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⢀⣀⡀⠘⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠛⠃⠀⢱⠀⠀ ⠰⣹⣿⣿⣮⣢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⠀ ⠀⠡⡻⣿⣿⣷⡣⣀⢠⢶⣤⣦⣀⣀⡠⠤⠚⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠒⠛⠒⠁⡜⢻⠀⡄⢸⣇⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠦⣄⣀⡠⠇⢀⣘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠠⠤⠤⢔⣣⢴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠒⠉⠘⢢⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠒⠠⣀⠀⠀⠙⡆
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⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜ ⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬛ ⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛ ⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛🌫️⬜⬛⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️⬜⬛⬛⬛🌫️⬜🌫️⬛ ⬛🌫️🌫️⬜⬜🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛🌫️⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛🌫️🌫️⬛ ⬛🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️⬛🌫️🌫️⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🌫️⬛ ⬛⬛🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️⬛⬛⬛⬛🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️⬜⬜⬛⬛🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️🌫️⬛ ⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛🌫️🌫️⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⢐⣒⣒⠲⣄⣠⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⢠⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡏⠐⠢⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⢬⣄⢶⠋⠛⠛⠛⠁⠈⠛⣋⣀⠀⠀⠘⡆ ⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⢀⠇ ⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⠴⠋⠀ ⢀⣀⣛⠿⡿⠝⠑⠒⢢⣀⣠⡞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢯⠑⢸⠚⠉⠀⠀⠈⠙⠤⠤⠼⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⠦⠞⠂⠀⠀⠠⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣇⣀⣀⣀⠀⠠⠟⢆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠣⣀⡀⣀⡀⠀⡸⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣒⣉⣄⢠⣄⣆⣙⠄⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡤⠶⢶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠶⠛⠒⠶⢦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠁⠀⢀⣀⣈⠙⠻⣦⣄⣿⠀⣴⣿⣷⣶⣤⣈⠙⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠏⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡈⢿⣿⡷⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠈⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⣸⣿⢷⣄⡈⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⢠⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣠⣿⠇⠈⣿⠿⢿⣷⣶⣶⣀⣶⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡇⠈⢧⡻⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠋⢀⣼⡿⠙⠛⠾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠓⠾⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠲⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣸⣷⣄⠀⠉⠒⠒⠒⠶⢊⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⡟⣹⢿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣴⠾⠛⠉⠀⢀⣠⣴⡶⠶⢶⣤⠀⠀⣠⡴⠶⠶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣼⡏⣼⢟⣿⠁⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠻⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⡄⠒⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠈⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇ ⣤⣴⠶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠉⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀ ⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣇⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢙⡿⢦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡶⠛⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀ ⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⠀⠀⠻⣄⣠⠟⠁⠀⠈⢙⡷⠶⠤⠤⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠤⢴⡶⠚⠋⠁⠘⣧⣀⣴⣃⣠⡴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠈⠛⠳⠶⣤⣀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⣧⣤⠤⠶⠞⠛⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⠷⢦⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠻⢶⣶⠞⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠻⠷⠾⠿⠟⠷⢶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣦⡀⠀⢀⣀⣰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⢿⣠⡤⠞⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣶⠿⠓⠒⠦⣤⣐⢶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠟⠉⠀⢀⣠⣴⣶⣦⣄⠀⠈⠛⣿⣦⣤⣤⣶⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⡿⠛⠁⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⣰⢲⢷⡀⢹⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢠⣿⡿⣼⣿⡌⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠃⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡌⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇ ⠀⢀⣼⣿⡟⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃ ⠀⣿⣿⡿⣷⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠋⠀ ⠀⠻⠟⠀⢿⡄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣶⠶⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢠⣿⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢷⣭⣛⡛⢛⣡⡾⠋⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣤⣴⡿⠛⠻⣷⣄⠉⡛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣦⣤⣀⣠⣾⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⡟⠉⠙⣷⡀⠀⣿⣏⣠⡾⠿⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠸⣇⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣹⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢠⠀⠄⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠉⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⣿⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣼⡿⠀⠀⢀⡿⢿⣦⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣄⣀⣀⣂⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣄⣠⡾⠃⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣤⣼⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⠿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣴⢿⣷⣿⠿⣿⣿⠀⣸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣶⣤⣤⣬⣿⣿⣏⣿⣿⣬⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⠿⠋⠹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠤⠴⠾⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠾⠿⠦⠤⠶⠴⠛⠛⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⢤⣤⣤⠤⠶⠛⢻⣥⠤⠤⠤⠾⢧⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠖⠒⠛⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠠⣄⠀⠈⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡀⠀⢻⡇⠀⠀⣈⡷⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠙⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠛⠒⠚⠛⠒⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠖⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠓⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⡄⠀⠀⠲⠒⠲⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⢁⣾⣶⣶⣤⡳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⢻⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢧⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢷⡀⠀⠀⢠⣄⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡴⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠧⣙⠻⢿⣿⣿⠇⣼⠛⠶⣄⣷⠙⠿⠛⠿⢿⣷⠶⠶⠒⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⠒⠒⠛⠁⢀⡴⢛⣫⡀⣀⣀⠀⣿⣿⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢰⡏⠉⠁⣸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣲⠦⠤⣤⡴⠋⠀⢀⣠⣤⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⡀⠀⢀⠀⣀⡴⠏⠈⣴⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠓⠚⠉⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠿⠥⠤⠞⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠸⠦⠤⠤⠴⠦⢤⣉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠓⠦⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠛⠉⢉⣡⣤⣤⡈⠙⠻⣿⣤⣀⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠟⠁⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡶⢤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠈⠙⠷⣦⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡏⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⣀⡀⢰⣾⡿⠋⠁⠙⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⣼⣿⣷⣆⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣿⣿⣷⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡏ ⢀⣾⣿⣿⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀ ⢸⡿⠛⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⡶⠾⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣯⣻⢿⣿⣿⡿⣰⡿⠷⢤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣠⣴⢦⣬⣙⠻⠾⠷⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣷⣦⣀⣀⣀⣼⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣼⠛⠻⣧⠄⣿⣿⣤⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢾⣇⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⢘⣧⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢿⣄⡀⠀⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⣌⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⣿⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⢿⣄⣼⠟⠈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡾⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡤⠤⠴⢾⣷⣶⠶⠴⠶⠶⠶⠖⠒⠒⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠓⠓⠛⠋⠉⢻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢶⣤⣀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣇⣀⣀⣴⣟⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⢴⠾⠿⢏⡁⢀⡈⣁⠀⠀⢁⡈⠉⠻⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠶⠿⣧⣤⣴⣇⣄⣘⣂⣁⣘⣷⣄⣸⣷⣠⣤⡿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡤⠴⠖⠒⠒⠒⠒⠲⠦⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠤⡉⠓⠶⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⢉⣽⡷⠾⠀⣸⡄⠀⠈⠳⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣉⣷⠶⢛⡛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡇⠑⠀⢴⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣤⡘⣿⣝⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠸⠲⠀⠏⢀⠀⢀⣠⠞⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠷⠦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⢤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⣀⡼⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⡻⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠛⢻⡛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡼⣶⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡖⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣾⠃⣀⣀⠴⠁⠱⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⣴⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣸⣿⠉⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢍⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⡏⢸⠀⠐⣶⡄⠀⠀⣶⣄⠀⠑⣄⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⠏⠀⠘⠒⠀⠘⠁⠀⠀⠈⢙⠁⠀⠚⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⢛⡿⠯⣿⠻⣿⠿⠟⠋⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠋⠛⣦⣸⡟⠃⢀⡞⠀⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠳⣦⣀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣄⣀⡴⠶⣟⠁⠘⣧⣠⡟⠉⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠋⠁⢈⡿⠚⠛⠶⣤⡤⠶⠛⠳⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠳⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢦⡀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣄⣿⣦⡀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣄⡀⠉⠀⠀⢿⣿⠦⠦⢤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠞⣩⠿⠀⠀⠀⢈⣽⠶⠖⠚⠛⠳⢤⡀⠀⠈⠙⢦⣀⣠⣴⣋⣠⡶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠷⣾⣁⣠⡟⠁⠀⣾⢁⡼⠃⢠⡶⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⣹⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠧⠤⣿⣀⣀⣠⣤⡤⠤⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⡡⠊⢁⣤⣦⣴⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣾⣶⣠⣾⣽⠛⠻⢀⣳⣴⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠋⡔⢷⡿⡋⠀⠈⣁⠤⢄⠀⡇⢀⠈⣳⠀⠉⠀⠂⠄⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⢎⣤⣴⡍⠁⠀⢸⣯⠁⠀⣿⠓⠬⡣⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠄⠀ ⢀⠎⠀⠙⣿⣿⣄⣠⡼⣏⣀⡰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣿⡷⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀ ⠊⣀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⡅⠀⠈⠁⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁ ⠀⠙⠋⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠀⢀⠄⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠑⠤⢀⣀⣀⡀⢠⠰⠅⠒⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠁⠀⠀⢰⠊⡇⠁⠧⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⡏⠒⢒⢪⢡⠀⠀⠀⢈⣃⠀⠠⢀⡸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡕⠢⠤⠔⠊⢄⠒⠈⠁⠀⢣⡀⢁⠄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⢠⠂⠀⠀⠈⢢⠀⠀⢠⡼⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁⠀⣸⢠⣤⢤⣦⣿⣷⡒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⠀⡄⠉⠘⣿⢹⣿⣮⣯⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢠⠀⣣⡾⣏⠋⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა
૮₍˃̵֊ ˂̵ ₎ა૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
BRUNK, Christian F., b 1874 May 19; r: Grant NE .....d 1928 Jul 29, appendicitis; Grant NE Cem; CCDR (G123) ifc59 m
🐶🤎🤎❤️‍🔥
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r/TwoSentenceHorror 4 days ago chacde3 Halfway into our trip, the GPS arrival time switched from “Midnight” to “Never.” I was so distracted trying to figure out what it meant, I did not notice the truck veering into my lane.
r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 min. ago InfamousInspector863 Her heart raced as the caller informed her that her date had died in a car crash earlier that evening. She turned slowly to face the person driving, realizing she was sitting next to a complete stranger.
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My family Story by Pansyk I died eight years ago. It wasn’t particularly tragic. Or unusual. Just a car accident. I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wife was in labor, and there was black ice on the road. He lost control of the car and I lost my life. It's not his fault. I know that. I’m not cruel. I am not vengeful. If anything, I’m the opposite.. ↓Keep reading ↓ 31ST OCT 2020 u/Pansyk I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wi҉fé was in labour, and lost control of the car and I lost my lįfe. It's not his fault. I am not vengeful. I’m the opposite. You see, I don’t have any family left and I had lost my few friends around that time. When it was time for my funeral, the only people who came was my boss and the family of the man who kılled me. The wi҉fé held her newborn daughter Lily close to her. I hated my boss, and the cemetery was awfully lonely, so I followed the family home. Lily may as well have been my own flesh and bľood. She was sweet, and bright, and oh so very small. She had trouble sleeping if someone wasn’t rocking her crib and her parents were so tired. After they put her to bed, it was easy for me to rock her crib for her. I didn’t get tired. I could help her. As the years passed, Jack and Lori realised that they weren’t alone in the house. It didn’t take long from there to make a connection between my funeral and when I had showed up. And I’d never been malevolent, so they weren’t afraid or angry. They started to burn candles on the anniversary of my dEath day. They left an empty chair for meals and holidays. I really felt like… A member of the family. Someone is trying to force the door. Its Lori’s ex. He’s obsessive. He’s angry. He’s going to hur͘t the family. My family. The thing about ghosts, is that the more offerings you get, the stronger you become. Id been enjoying candles, trinkets, and even the occasional food item for the past five years. I was strong from that. The kn1fe feels warm in my hand. A shock of heat against the ice of my skin. Lori, Jack, and Lily are my family. I care about them. And they’re not gonna join me yet.
December 13, 1977, Evansville Aces players, coaches, supporters and flight crew boarded a chartered DC-3 plane to travel to Murfreesboro for a game against Middle Tennessee. Just one minute after taking off, at 7:22 p.m. crashed, tragically taking the lives of everyone onboard. The only member of the Purple Aces who did not die in the crash was 18-year-old freshman David Furr; he was out for the season with some infirmary and thus was not on the plane that day. Lucky break? Well… Davis Lee Furr, weeks after the plane crash, and his younger brother Byron were killed in a car accident near Newton, Illinois, leaving the entire 1977 Evansville team dead.
Horror Short Story: The Accident In this horror short story, a man tries to cope with what he has done. Written by: Reddit user Minnboy Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home. Why did you run? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone. Why not just go to the police right now? Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. Trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light. “Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer. He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me —”I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss..."

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

Remembering the 1977 Evansville Purple Aces Tuesday, December 13, 1977 was a cold, rainy evening in Evansville, Indiana. Fog was moving in in front of a cold front, and wind gusts whipped across the prairie. The University of Evansville Purple Aces, the men’s basketball team, was preparing to head to a game at Middle Tennessee State University in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. But the team had waited over three hours at the airport before their plane arrived. It had been delayed due to inclement weather. The players and their new coach, Bobby Watson, were excited and anticipating this game, thinking it could be the beginning of the holiday turn-around games they were expecting to win... With a 1 – 3 record going into this game, the Aces wanted to prove they had what it would take to bring home a victory, and that their young, optimistic coach was right – in their first season of Division 1 competition they planned to be a force to be reckoned with come spring. And the City of Evansville staunchly supported them! But at 7:22 p.m., on runway 18 at Evansville Dress Regional Airport, all hopes for the team and their coach ended. Within 90 seconds after takeoff, the twin-engine Douglas C-53 (DC-3) chartered to fly the team to Nashville, lost control and crashed in a nearby field. There were 29 people on board, all of whom lost their lives… The hometown basketball team was gone. The horror of the crash rebounded around the city, the state, the Midwest, and the country. The official accident report listed the probable cause of the crash as "An attempted take-off with the rudder and right aileron control locks installed, in combination with a rearward centre of gravity, which resulted in the aircraft's rotating to a nose-high attitude immediately after take-off, and entering the region of reversed command from which the pilot was unable to recover.” The report also stated that the passenger baggage had not been loaded correctly, creating an improper weight balance in the rear of the plane. Of those who were, 14 were members of the Purple Aces basketball team, along with Coach Bobby Watson. Also on board were three student managers, three UE officials, the team’s radio announcer, two fans, and four members of the flight crew, along with the president of the airline. No survivors of the team left, save for one member of the Purple Aces had not been injured. Freshman David Furr, who also served as the team’s statistician, had been sidelined due to an infirmity and was not on the plane that night.. But two-weeks later, Furr and his 16-year-old brother were in a car crash after being hit by a driver. By the end of 1977, all of the members of UE’s Purple Aces were gone. Remembering those who lost their lives in the crash: University of Evansville Coach Robert (Bobby) Watson Purple Aces Players Kevin Kingston, senior John Ed Washington, senior Tony Winburn, senior Steve Miller, junior Bryan Taylor, junior Keith Moon, sophomore Warren Alston, freshman Ray Comandella, freshman Mike Duff, freshman Kraig Heckendorn, freshman Michael Joyner, freshman Barney Lewis, freshman Greg Smith, freshman Mark Siegel, freshman Student Managers Jeff Bohnert Mark (Tank) Kirkpatrick Mark Kniese University of Evansville Officials Bob Hudson, athletic business manager Gregory Knipping, sports information director Charles Shike, comptroller Radio Announcer Marvin (Marv) Bates Fans and Boosters Charles Goad Maurice (Maury) King Flight Crew Members & Airline Representatives Ty Van Pham, pilot Gaston Ruiz, first officer Pam Smith, flight attendant James Stewart, president of National Jet Service, Inc. Bill Hartford, charter flight manager
20 OCTOBER 2010 VIA LoveGivesMeHope lovegivesmehope: givesmehope: My best friend died in a car accident on his way to deliver me soup for my cold. Found in the car was also a bouquet of flowers and a card that read: “We’ve been best friends for the last 5 years. Now, let’s be lovers for the next 50.” Unforgettable LGMH
I'm 17 and recently lost my mom in a car accident. As I was rambling on and crying about how she wouldn't be there for my wedding or the birth of my children, my fiance lifted up my head and simply said, "Baby, don't worry. She'll have the perfect view." Sam, you GMH. June 24th, 2010, 12:29 AM
I see the death of everyone I meet. (Written by JJX2525, from Reddit) SHARED JUN 05 I see the death of everyone I meet. Once, when I was in kindergarten, I got booted out of class for telling the new girl Abigail that she smelt bad̳. I remember it vividly – a bloody-burny-boozy smell that hit me the moment she came in. Abigail burst into tears and I got a stern lecture on telling lıes. But it wasn’t a lie. My little nose had leapt forward ten years into the future, where a teenage Abigail would drunkenly plough her parent’s Mitsubishi straight into the front of an oncoming bus. When we met again in middle school I smelt it a second time, along with the song she’d be playing on the radio – five seconds of a generic disco beat. The last thing she’d hear. I know it’s bad҉ to say, but I think there’s something sacred about it. There’s nothing more personal then someone’s last̀ moments of lífe. I try not to take it for granted. It’s hard, sometimes, though, especially once I got older and better at it. Along with smells came sounds, sights, and even feelings, though that last one was rare. In this day and age most people go to their dEath with pastel colours and blinking machines and a faint whiff of hand sanitizer, their brains too fizzled to know what’s about to happen. There are exceptions. Like Abigail, or my middle school gym teacher, who was going to dıe with a deafening bang in a rush of mad courage. I couldn’t hear a word of his opening lecture because my ears were still ringing. Suıcıde will do that to you. Have I ever told anyone? Of course not. Can you imagine? Even if they did believe me, which I doubt, it wouldn’t be long before curiosity got the better of them. They’d want to know what I saw in them. Which is fine for the heart attacks and the quietly-in-their-sleeps, but what do you say to a m√rder? And no you can’t change it, don’t ask me because I already tried, I already tried and you can’t beat the system. You just can’t. I already lost someone to that. Her name was Phoebe and she was in my History class at community college. It was a prettɥ small place and I knew most of the other kids there – except for her. We weren’t on speaking terms because every time she came within a few feet of me I got the urge to vom1t. It was motion sickness, but also something worse – fear. Hers was the worst fear I’d ever felt in another human being. I could hardly stand to be in the same room as her. I managed to avoid her for a couple months, until one day when she arrived late to class. She apologised and looked around, before striding to the back of the room and sitting beside me. There was nothıng I could do. I felt it all. The nausea, the terror, and a vision too, of me stuck fast in my seat as I hurdles headlong flaming out of the sky – the ocean rushing up towards me – screaming, then – Smack. Nothıng. When I came to she was glaring at me. ‘What is your problem?’ she whispered. ‘What?’ I asked, the uneasiness subsiding. ‘I don’t –‘ ‘If you don’t like̢ me then just say so. Quit pretending to be ıll all the time.’ ‘Huh?’ I sat up, trying to get a better look at her. We’d never been this close before. She was pretty. I hadn’t thought about how I must look to her, running away every time she got close. ‘I swear it’s not on purpose.’ I said. ‘I’m sick͞ a lot. It isn’t you.’ ‘Sure.’ she said, looking back towards the front of the front of the class. ‘Honestly.’ I said. ‘Let me – let me make it up to you.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Seriously?’ And that was the start of it. Within a month we were official. It was the happiest time of my life. The sicknesses didn’t go away, but it subsided after a couple minutes, and she stopped taking it personally after a while. Dashing to the bathroom became part of the routine on dates. We did everything together, all the couple things – movies, dinners, walks. It was my first serious relationship. I convinced myself that her dEath – whatever it was – was still years into the future. For a while, anyway. At the start of the summer she told me she was going to visit her grandparents out of state. ‘The flight’s on Monday. I won’t be gone much more than a week.’ ‘Flight?’ I repeated. ‘Yeah.” she replied. ‘Hey, what’s wrong with you?’ I convinced her to take a road trip. I can’t remember the exact excuse I gave. Some nonsense about expenses, life experience, our ‘carbon footprint’. How it took me that long to guess it could be a plane crash I’ll never know. I was in too deep, I guess. But whatever it was I said she must have seen I was serious. She rented a red mini from the local garage and, after we’d packed it up, I kissed her goodbye and said it was the right decision. ‘Okay.’ She laughed. ‘Weirdo.’ Straight after she left I got the urge to call her, but I told myself I was being overprotective. I worked for a few hours, then flopped down in front of the TV. I watched bad reality shows until I got bored, then flicked to the local news station just in time to see the breakıng story of a twelve car pile-up on a suspension bridge, when a truck driver dozing at the wheel had strayed out of his lane, clipping the corner of a passing car which swerved into another, triggering a chain of collisions which ended tragically when – some viewers may find this footage disturbing – a red mini was forced over the side, plummeting into the ocean beloɯ..
Just today, I found out the real reason of my parents’ deaths‎ when I was 10. When our car lost ıt's brakes and was going to crash, they tried to protect me at the last minute. Their bødies were found, covering me while I was non-conscious. Their never ending love truly GMH.
The Never Ending Road. In Corona, California there once was a road known by most of the elder locals as the never ending road. Specifically, the road’s true name was Lester Road. However, over 70 years ago, Lester Road was an unlit road that people claimed became a never ending road when driven at night. The people who made such a drive were never seen or heard from again. The legend became so well-known that people refused to even drive Lester Road during the day. Perpetuation of the legend convinced local law enforcement to investigate around the 1960’s. Lester Road took a sharp left turn at it's end, and there were no guard rails. Beyond the curve lay a canyon, and on the other side of the canyon was another road that lined up so well with Lester Road that when viewed from the correct angle, especially at night, the canyon vanished from sight, and the road seemed to continue on up and over the hill on the other side of the canyon. Upon investigation of the canyon, dozens of cars were found, fallen to their doom, with the decomposing bødies of the victims still strapped to their seats. Law enforcement tried to cover up their findings. They closed down Lester road, letting the trees grow where the road once stood and letting the bødies remain in their final resting place.
r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago MintClicker Moments before the tragedy At 3, she jumped off the bed. At 7, she unbuckled her seat belt. At 12, she went to a sleepover at a friend's house. At 17, she finally received her driver's license. At 26, she said yes. At 30, she went into labor. At 39, she had one last hurrah. At 46, she signed the papers to make it final. At 55, he was diagnosed and had no one to share the news with. At 61, she celebrated her remission with a night out. At 22, she looked at herself in the mirror. At 87, surrounded by her family and friends, she smiled. There are moments before every tragedy, quick flashes of boredom or happiness, of the expected and unexpected. These moments I see. The little girl jumping off her parents bed and into an unresponsive final state. Another girl attending her first sleepover, excited and giddy, only to succumb to an unknowing fatal nut allergy. The young woman whose proposal near the shoreline was poorly thought-out, never allowing her to live to see her marriage. The older woman who finally divorced the man she came to loathe, and for that man to not take the finality of it all with dignity or peace. The man whose diagnosis was terminal. The woman whose 40th birthday ended in heartache and disaster. The girl whose last glimpse in the mirror was of herself, relieved, then raising the pistol to her temple. These moments, as innocuous as they seem, are the final looks to life before tragedy ultimately hits. And I watch them. I have to. It's my responsibility to take you all from this realm to the next. It's my duty. And I am sorry; I truly am. Because now? At this moment, they read the final sentences of a story. Some bored. Some happy. Some expecting this ending; some not. And I watch as they read these last words, fully oblivious as they are, that this, this is their moment.
http://www.henrycomo.us/Death%20Records/hdeath.html HAKE, Leonard S. - 38Y married white male farmer - b: Jul 12 1912 Montrose, Henry Co, MO - d: Apr 14 1951 Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis, MO - fth: Anthony J. Hake - mth: Mary Calwei - spouse: Angeline E. Hake - usual res: Rt 2, Fair Grove, Greene Co, MO - informant: VA Hospital Records, Jefferson Barracks, MO - cause: cancer of pharynx - bur: St. Ludger Cemetery, Deepwater Twp, Henry Co, MO - filed as: Leonard S. Hake, file no: 15136 http://www.sos.mo.gov/images/archives/deathcerts/1951/1951_00015132.PDF
r/shortscarystories 13 hr. ago S_G_Woodhouse I think I'm losing my head I was driving home after a long day at work. I blinked, and the next thing I knew, I was at home having dinner with my wife and 2 daughters. "What's wrong honey" she asked me. "I don't know. I just feel like I've forgotten something" I replied, confused. Forgot something? It was much worse than that, I had no memory of going home. I reassured her and spent the rest of the evening as normal, re-watching one of my favorite movies. Eventually, I dozed off. I dreamt strange things. I saw myself, having a picnic with my parents. Except they weren't smiling and happy like I remembered them. Instead, they were sitting on the picnic blanket, staring into space, their faces closed and expressionless. No matter how much I shouted at them in my daze, I couldn't see any life left in them; it was as if they were there, without being there. Detached. I woke up in my bed, alone. I looked all over the house, but not only was my wife gone, so were my children. My cell phone line was dead, no service. I went outside to get my car and drive to work, thinking I'd try to call my wife a little later. There was no one on the road but me. It was as if the whole Earth had emptied out. I'd dismissed my detachment last night, but I was seriously beginning to wonder if I was losing my mind. I was lost. I decided to go to my work to see if anyone was still in town, if a national evacuation drill was underway and could explain everything. Once there, I rushed back into the building, hoping to find someone who could explain what was going on. And when I opened the door, I was relieved to see that all my colleagues were there. At last, I could find out what was going on. I walked over to a colleague who over the years had become my best friend. "Hey, what's going on? My family's disappeared and there's nobody left in town," I asked him. He didn't answer. I stepped forward to face him, and discovered to my horror that his face and expression were detached exactly the same as my parents' in my dream. It couldn't be, was I trapped in a nightmare? I tried to talk to everyone, but they were all in the same state. My head hurt, my eyes hurt. I saw lights, and sounds filled my ears even though there was nothing here. Nothing alive. My vision began to narrow. Sounds began to blend together. Blackness. Emptiness. And finally, words I didn't have time to understand came to me for the last time. "The driver is dead, his head was torn off by the impact."
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⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠤⣤⣤⡤⠤⠒⢤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⡶⢋⣝⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⢺⠏⠛⠆⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠙⠭⠉⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢛⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⡀⠀⢘⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠟⠋⠉⢻⣏⠀⢉⠛⠲⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢿⣿⣷⠆⠀⠰⠒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⣸⣏⡇⠘⡆⠀⢀⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⡏⠀⢣⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢿⡆⢱⠀⠈⢒⡆⠈⣽⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣸⣧⢾⣽⣾⡀⡾⣝⣡⡴⣿⣶⡒⢶⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣥⠈⠉⠻⠋⠀⡽⠋⠉⠉⢲⡍⠉⠁⣸⠄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⢀⠖⢉⠤⣄⣴⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠒⠂⠤⠚⠀⠈⠒⠚⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠺⠭⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠥⣶ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⠤⢤⣶⠮⣭⣧⣤⣄⣒⣠⣀⣠⣔⣶⣄⣤⣬⣶⣿⠾⠷⠛⠛⠻⠟⠿⠛⠛⠛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣐⢿⣿⠟⠁⠀⢀⣾⠏⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢽⠊⠁⠀⢀⣀⣀⣄⣤⣤⣦⣤⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠉⢦⣀⡠⣾⡅⣴⣏⢿⣿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣯⠍⠇⠈⢿⣧⢇⠀⠀⣴⣿⣶⣾⣿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣡⣾⣿⠏⠑⠻⠿⠿⠿⡫⣾⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡡⡄⣼⣿⣿⢿⣷⣶⣽⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡿⢯⣖⣂⣴⣢⣤⡼⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣻⣷⣿⣿⣿⣯⢉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣹ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠜⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⢋⢀⣀⣔⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠛⠟⢿⣿⢿⣷⣶⡶⠾⠷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⡀⣀⣠⠇⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⠾⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠼⣽⣭⣭⣽⣿⡇⠀ ⣶⠙⠘⠩⢱⢲⠙⠈⠀⠉⠨⣸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡷⡀⠐⠈⠁⠀⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠂⠂⠙⣿⣷⣿⠿⢿⡀ ⡇⠀⠀⠂⠀⠺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣵⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡸⠂⠀⢀⠀⠜⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠿⣿⣿⡂⠁ ⡇⠠⢀⢄⡀⡀⢵⢔⢀⢀⠠⢠⢾⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⡇⠀⠀⠘⡎⣀⢀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠃⢨⡁⠀⠀⢆⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠒⠢⡀⣺⠀⠀⠠⠀⢀⠛⡞⡐⠛⠝⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣷⠄⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢲⣦⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠈⠱⠤⣀⣁⣑⣐⠔⢄⠈⢁⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡆⠀⠀⠦⠄⠰⣾⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⡁⠀⠀⢰⣷⣦⣤⣀⣀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠊⠟⠛⠛⣻⣷⣇⠣⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡃⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠉⠛⠿⠷⣶⣾⣷⣶⣾⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⠿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ
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