Previously: Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. After two years of deceit, love and death, the war is over. Stanton forces Adam into a final conspiracy. Adam meets John Booth.
Before Adam replied, he went to the door and closed it. He studied Booth’s eyes. Was he the interested party for whom I was searching?
“How were you assigned to the White House, Private Christy?”
“My father knows Edwin Stanton.”
“He’s another person with no morals.”
“Yes,” Adam replied. “I hate him.” He paused. “I hate them both.”
Adam could see Booth’s brain working through his etched, pallid brow. He hoped he had convinced the actor.
“And why do you hate Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Stanton?”
“I was supposed to get a commission,” he replied. “They lied.”
“I could have told you Republicans were liars.”
“I hate them all,” Adam lied again.
“I’d have fought for the South,” Booth confided, “but the reality of war is that it does eventually end, and life goes on, and my life is acting. I might have been scarred in battle, which would have ruined my career.”
“Oh.”
“I feel guilty,” Booth added. “I want to do something. Now. To redeem myself.”
“Why are you telling me this? We’re not friends.”
“I make friends easily.” Booth smiled. “I’ve many friends here. You should meet them.”
“Friends or conspirators?” Shivers roamed over Adam’s body, but he forced a smile on his face.
“If they be conspirators, they must be friends first,” Booth replied.
“Then if you consider me a friend you must want me as a conspirator.” Adam had a strange feeling this conversation was going the same way as those he had had with prostitutes on street corners at midnight. What kind of good time do you want to show me, he remembered saying to painted women in cold shadows. “And what kind of conspiracy are you talking about?”
Before Booth could answer, a brutish young giant of a man opened the door and stuck his large head in. This fellow was bigger and brawnier than he, and his facial features—chin, cheeks, nose—were more handsome than his; however, Adam felt superior because stupidity flowed through the giant’s eyes.
“Hey, Johnny,” the man said, “this guy pickin’ on ya?”
“No, Tommy,” Booth replied. “I think we’ve a new friend here.”
“Oh.”
“Now please leave and shut the door.”
“All right, Johnny.” The large, stupid man left.
After a moment loud, thumping footsteps faded away. Booth smiled at Adam, a smile which made him nervous.
“What kind of conspiracy do you think I’m talking about?”
“Kill the bastards. All of them.” Adam was tired of romancing about the subject. Stanton wanted it done by the end of the week, so he decided to be blunt.
“What do you bring to the table?” Booth asked.
“What?”
“What do you know that I don’t already know about assassination?”
“I know a man who thinks like us.” Adam narrowed his eyes. “Things like how to get close to the president.”
“When can you arrange a meeting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tonight.”
“Too soon,” Adam lied.
“It must be tonight.”
“Very well. Tonight at midnight, under the Aqueduct Bridge.”
“Do you think the man will show up on such short notice?”
“I don’t know,” Adam lied again. “I’ll try.”
“We’ll be there.”
“All right.” Adam was more nervous knowing he was closer to killing Lincoln. Self-preservation made men do terrible things, he decided, and therefore extended his hand.
“To success,” Booth said as he shook it.
“To redemption,” he replied.
That afternoon he met Stanton at the turnstile gate between the grounds of the Executive Mansion and the War Department.
“I met someone,” Adam whispered. “He’ll be at the bridge with friends.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to ask too many questions.”
“Very well. Mr. Baker will be there. What did you say?”
“I said I knew a man who knew how to get close to Lincoln.”
“Good.”
When Adam took the supper tray to the basement, Mrs. Lincoln hugged him and Gabby was still grinning at the old photograph Adam had given him in the afternoon. Adam could not help keeping his eyes down in front of Lincoln.
“Anything wrong, Private Christy?”
“Nothing, sir.” He did not want to look the president in the face.
A traitor, a lowly coward that was all I am, all I’d ever be. In Steubenville, I could have lived into old age without realizing what a despicable person I am. I could have been content to think I have admirable, manly qualities, but my life in Washington has stripped away my pretensions, leaving me with a person I neither like nor want to be.

Previously: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby Zook captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. Duff and Alethia become Lincoln impostors. After two years of deceit, love and death, the war is over. Adam makes amends with hostages in the basement.
Adam smiled at Mrs. Lincoln, nodded, and turned to Gabby’s cubicle behind the crates and barrels. He watched Gabby on his pallet, stirring restlessly and mumbling.
“Cord—cord—cordiecordiecordie,” Gabby muttered. After twisting and moaning a few more moments, he suddenly sat up, shouting clearly, “Cordie!” His eyes were wide and blank; after batting them several times, he focused on Adam.
“I’m sorry to wake you up, Mr. Gabby,” Adam said, setting the plate on a chair which had dirty trousers and shirts strewn across the back of it.
“Cordie is dead, isn’t she?” he whispered, staring at the plate.
“Yes. Last night.” Love really did connect people, Adam decided, realizing Gabby already sensed his sister’s death. He envied the old man’s grief.
“I’m not hungry anymore.” He looked at the plate of fried eggs and toast and then glanced away indifferently. “They say we’ll be out of here by the end of the week.”
“Yes, sir. We can all go Friday night.”
“It doesn’t seem to matter anymore, does it? The rats are gone. Wish we hadn’t killed all of them so fast; it gave me something to worry about. I mean, something of no account to worry about. I’ve enough honest-to-God worries as it is.”
“You really don’t have anything to worry about now.” Adam tried to sound hopeful.
“Cordie’s dead. There’s plenty to worry about. Uncle Sammy’s dead. Mama’s dead. Papa’s dead. Joe’s dead. Everybody’s dead except me.”
“No, you don’t have to worry. Cordie had a friend at the hospital. She was with her right to the last moment. Her name’s Jessie Home.”
“Is she a young woman?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll scare her away. Young women have always been scared of me. Well, not always, but that was a long time ago when I was someone else. I don’t remember him very well, but I do remember young women were rather fond of him.”
“Jessie’s different than most young women,” Adam said. “She doesn’t care about what people seem like but what they are like.”
“You love this girl, don’t you?” Gabby looked at Adam. “I can tell by the way you talk about her. And your eyes. Say her name again.”
“Jessie Home.”
“See. When you say her name, your cheeks turn red. And you can’t help but smile when you talk about her. If you can trust her, then I can trust her; after all, you can’t love somebody you can’t trust.”
Adam darkened when he thought about how much he loved and trusted Jessie, and how little she must love and trust him now.
“And don’t worry. I forgive you.”
“I hurt you the night you jumped me,” Adam said quietly. “If Mr. Lincoln hadn’t pulled me off, I might have hurt you real bad.”
“You couldn’t help it,” Gabby said. “You just fought back like anyone would have. You know, it was all her fault.” He nodded beyond the crates and barrels to Mrs. Lincoln. Leaning into Adam, he added in a whisper, “I don’t think she’s quite right in the head. When people are like that, there’s nothing you can do but forgive them.”
“Are you sure about breakfast?” Adam asked.
“Maybe I’ll be hungry again sometime, but right now I don’t think so.”
Adam smiled and took the plate away. He stacked the dishes on the tray and left for the kitchen. Phebe kept her head down when he came in, and he did not say anything. Back in the hallway, Adam felt a tug at his elbow. It was Stanton, who pulled him into the stairwell.
“I’ve a new assignment for you.”
“No.” Adam moved away. “When the Lincolns are back upstairs, when the others leave, I want to go. I want to return to Steubenville. Forget the commission.”
“I have,” Stanton said. “You’re guilty of kidnapping and holding hostage the president and his wife. I was aghast when I learned of your plot.”
“Do you think people will believe that?”
“Do you think they will believe you?”
“Lincoln,” Adam said with confidence. “Lincoln knows the truth.” He paused and softened his voice. “Lincoln won’t judge me. He won’t judge you. He knows you did what you did to help the nation. The war’s over.”
“The war’s never over. We now have to make the rebels suffer. They must obey the law.”
“That war Mr. Lincoln can win. He won’t punish us. He’s a man of justice.”
“It is exactly because he is a man of justice that we will be punished.”
“I’ve already been punished.” Adam turned somber.
“You don’t know what punishment is.” Stanton’s beady eyes narrowed. “Do what I say. You murdered the butler. We hang murderers. If you cooperate, you can go home to Steubenville.”
“What is it?” Adam asked, hanging his head in defeat.
“The old woman, the sister of the janitor, the one who died this week. Did she ever say anything of interest?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“She’s dead,” Stanton said. “It makes no sense to protect her when your life’s in danger.”
“Oh.” He looked off. “One time she asked about troop movements.”
“Troop movements?” Stanton pursed his Cupid’s bow lips.
“She said her landlady might turn her out if she couldn’t get any information from her brother who worked in the White House.”
“Do you know the name of the landlady?”
“No.”
“Do you know where the boardinghouse is?”
“I escorted her home several times.”
“Very good.” Stanton paused to think. “Go to the boardinghouse to say you’re collecting her personal effects to give to her brother. Then keep your ears open.”
“What am I listening for?”
“Conspiracies, plots, assassins.”
“Assassins?” Adam’s eyes widened.
“What do you think we’re talking about?” Stanton snapped. “Lincoln must die.”
“But he’s forgiven me.”
“He’s never mentioned forgiving me, and if I go to prison, you hang.”
“I don’t think I can help kill President Lincoln.” Adam swallowed hard.
“You can, and you will.” Stanton paused. “If you find anyone interested, tell them to meet you under Aqueduct Bridge at midnight.”
“But I don’t know—”
“Just tell them to be under the bridge at midnight.”

Previously: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby Zook captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. Duff and Alethia become Lincoln impostors. After two years of deceit, love and death, the war is over. Duff tells Lamon the Lincolns are in Baltimore and urges him to take Alethia away.
The next morning Adam balanced the breakfast tray with one hand as he unlocked the billiards room door. He heard Mary Lincoln fuss about packing.
“I know that woman ruined all my dresses,” she fumed, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s stolen all my finest toiletries and unmentionables.”
“Excuse me.” Adam entered, keeping his head down and going to the billiards table.
“You would come in as I was talking about my unmentionables.” She lifted her nose and sniffed. After a pause she added, “Thank you for retrieving my items for me as I required them during our time down here.”
Adam watched out of the corner of his eye as Mrs. Lincoln plopped things into a box. She paused to consider the bottle of laudanum in her hand.
“How many bottles of this have I used since living in the basement?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” he replied
“The partial bottle you brought down here the first day, and this one,” she said, answering her own question. “It’s close to empty now.” Pausing, Mrs. Lincoln looked at Adam, her eyes softened. “A bottle used to last a month. Who would think I’d need only two bottles in two years.” A smile flickered across her face. “Perhaps I’m stronger than I thought.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Adam hoped that was the proper response; with Mrs. Lincoln he rarely knew. It apparently was appropriate, because she nodded, sat, and sipped her coffee.
As he had for most of his time in the basement, Lincoln stayed behind the French lace curtain. Adam’s routine was to leave his plate on the billiards table so Lincoln could retrieve it when he wanted. Yet on this morning, Adam felt the urge to speak to Lincoln, so he took the plate to the edge of the curtain.
“Mr. President.,” Adam cleared. “May I bring in your breakfast?”
“If you like,” Lincoln replied.
Lincoln, dressed in a shirt and trousers, was sitting on the cot when Adam brought the plate in and placed it beside him.
“Thank you, Private Christy.” He looked at Adam, who was standing on one foot and then the other. “Something on your mind?”
“Yes, sir.” His eyes looked away.
“Sit down, please.”
Settling on the edge of Lincoln’s cot, Adam tried to compose his thoughts so that the president would not think he was a bigger fool than he already believed himself to be.
“Mr. President, I wish to take this opportunity to express my sincere apologies for carrying out Mr. Stanton’s orders.”
“Well said.” Lincoln sipped his black coffee. “Please don’t continue. Your innocence was as plain as the spots on a speckled pup the first day you pulled your revolver on me.”
“Thank you, sir.” He paused, trying to compose his thoughts further. “Life will be better now the war’s over.”
“Well,” Lincoln said with a drawl, his eyes darting up with sad amusement, “don’t expect too much.” After chewing on a dry piece of toast, he swallowed. “Let me give you some advice. Don’t look outside yourself to find happiness.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Your honesty is intact.” Lincoln sighed in resignation. “The war’s over, yes. The conflict continues. The Union will go on, yes; but we won’t.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ah.” Lincoln looked at Adam. “Don’t give up your honesty. You know exactly what I mean; it’s just that it’s too awful to accept.”
Adam’s face flushed, and he could not speak.
“I’ve scared you,” Lincoln said. “Don’t be afraid. Why be afraid of things you can’t change?”
“Yes, sir.” Adam stood, nodded, and left through the curtains, where he faced Mrs. Lincoln quietly eating her eggs at the billiards table.
“I hope your breakfast is to your taste,” Adam hesitantly offered.
“It’s fine.” Mrs. Lincoln paused to chew daintily. “It was always fine.” Patting her lips with her napkin, she put it down and pushed the plate away. “I complained to punish you. I focused my anger on you.” She looked at him with compassion. “Mr. Stanton’s the one I should have abused; but, unfortunately, he wasn’t here and you were.” Mrs. Lincoln reached out to pat his hand. “I’m wicked,” she said in a whisper. “I knew very well your mother died when you were a child. I played upon your soft disposition to get what I wanted, and when that didn’t work, I hurt you as your mother’s death hurt you.”
“Thank you, but I should have behaved more like a gentleman.”
“Your sins are trivial compared to mine. Please let it go. We’ve the rest of our lives now to be good people.”
Adam furrowed his brow.
“You frown?”
“Mr. Gabby’s sister died last night at Armory Square Hospital. Her last words were for him.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Lincoln’s hand went to her cheek. “How sad. I’d never seen such devotion between brother and sister.” She looked into his eyes. “I could tell him for you.”
“I thought he wasn’t talking to you.”
“We settled all that last night. Just as you and I have settled our differences now.”
“I appreciate your offer,” Adam said, “but I promised her I would tell him.”
“I understand,” she replied.

Previously: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby Zook captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. Duff and Alethia become Lincoln impostors. After two years of deceit, love and death, the war is over. Duff confesses to Alethia that he is married.
Lamon raced up the Executive Mansion steps, past the drunken guard, and up the grand staircase, eager to confront the man who pretended to be Lincoln. Less than an hour earlier, a deputy marshal had burst into his office with the news that Lee had surrendered to Grant, and Lamon wanted to find out the truth that Stanton had kept from him for more than two years. Opening the president’s bedroom door, he saw the man stretched out on the bed, a gangling arm across his face.
“Sir?” Lamon said. “I just heard the war’s over.”
The man sat up, revealing red, moist eyes, and replied, “Yes, everything’s over.”
“No, sir. Everything won’t be over until I see Mr. Lincoln again.”
“Everything’s over for me.”
“You have to help me.”
“What do you mean?”
Lamon shut the door and sat on the bed next to him and whispered, “You can tell me the truth. Mr. Stanton can’t hurt you now.”
“The truth.” He bowed his head. “The truth doesn’t solve anything.”
“The truth will solve everything. Look. I know you were lying about all this business being Mr. Lincoln’s idea.” Lamon waited for a response. “Are you still scared?”
“No, not really.”
“Then why not tell me where Mr. Lincoln is?”
“You don’t know?” The man looked up.
“No. If I can rescue Mr. Lincoln, we can stop Mr. Stanton before he does anything else,” Lamon said. “You want to help us, don’t you?”
“We’re beyond help.” He sighed.
“All right.” Lamon paused to control his emotions. He wanted to throttle the man, but knew that would do no good. “I know after two years it seems like everything’s hopeless. That’s what Mr. Stanton wanted you to think, but we can still help each other.” He searched the man’s face. “Mr. Lincoln could die if you don’t help.”
“What? How do you know this?”
“Know? I don’t know anything. But my gut tells me if Stanton was crazy enough to do all this he’s crazy enough to kill Mr. Lincoln.”
“Then Mr. Lincoln is going to die despite what I can do. I’m already dead.” He put his head in his hands for a moment and then looked up, his hands cupped in front of his mouth. “But we all don’t have to die.”
“That’s right.” Lamon’s eyes widened as he leaned forward. “Nobody has to die.”
“Baltimore.”
“Mr. Lincoln is in Baltimore?”
“And Mrs. Lincoln,” the man added.
“Where in Baltimore?’
The man blinked several times.
“Where in Baltimore?” Lamon repeated.
“Fort McHenry.”
“They’ve known all along?”
“I don’t know.” The man turned to smile. “I’m only the double.”
“I’ll leave right now.”
Lamon stood, but the man grabbed his arm.
“Take the woman with you.”
“What woman?”
“Her.” He nodded toward the other bedroom. “I want her out of here tonight. I don’t trust Mr. Stanton.”
“Very well.” Lamon said. “Do you want to go too?”
“No.” He let Lamon’s arm go and looked down. “I have meetings to attend. There’s a candlelight parade tomorrow night. The people still need to see the president.”
“Good man.” Lamon patted the man’s back. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
“Thank you.”
Lamon left and went next door and knocked. The woman softly told him to enter, and he did. He found her sitting in a rocking chair, staring out the window.
“Mrs. Lincoln?”
“Yes?”
“May we speak?”
“Of course, Mr. Lamon.”
Her voice sounded lifeless. Lamon walked over to her and went down on his haunches. Her face was expressionless.
“You can leave, miss,” he said in a whisper.
“What?” She continued to look out the window.
“I know you’re not Mrs. Lincoln,” he said as kindly as he could, sensing she was emotionally fragile. “I know Mr. Stanton put you here.”
She looked at Lamon.
“How long have you known?”
“Since the beginning. Mr. Stanton told me it was Mr. Lincoln’s idea, but I didn’t believe him.” Lamon paused for her response. She was as forlorn as the man. “Miss, I know this has been very stressful for you.”
“Not all of it.” She smiled slightly. “Tad is a delightful child.”
“I’m leaving for Baltimore tonight.” He leaned toward her. “I can take you with me. There’s no reason for you to stay any longer.”
“I can leave now?” She straightened her back. “Mr. Stanton said I could leave tonight?”
“No, the man—Mr. Lincoln’s double—suggested it. He’s worried for your safety. Mr. Stanton knows nothing of this.”
She fell back in the rocker, the air seemingly leaving her body, and looked back out the window.
“Miss?”
“I don’t care what he wants,” she said in a rueful whisper.
“I don’t care what Mr. Stanton wants either,” said Lamon. “He’s had what he wanted for the last two years. Now it’s what we want.”
“No, I mean…” Her voice trailed off as her hand went to her cheek. Her eyes seemed to focus on a distant object. “I don’t want Tad to be left alone.”
“His parents will be back soon,” Lamon said, “and the man is still here.”
“The man is still here,” she repeated blankly. “No, I don’t want him to be left alone. He’s been through so much, and he’s come to depend on me. I can’t let him down.”
Sighing, Lamon stood and put his hand on the rocking chair.
“As you wish.” He smiled. “I must say, miss, I’ve been wrong about you and the man.”
“Wrong?” She looked up.
“I didn’t think much of you for replacing the Lincolns,” he explained. “But now I see both of you are fine people.”
“Both of us?” She smiled queerly. “Fine people?” Her eyes returned to stare unseeingly out the window. “Thank you.”

Previously: War Secretary Stanton holds the Lincolns and janitor Gabby Zook captive in the White House basement. Private Adam Christy takes guard duties. Ashamed and distraught, Adam gets drunk and kills the butler who stops him from molesting the cook. Six months later Richmond falls to the Union. Everyone in the White House learns the war is over.
After Stanton left, Alethia went to Duff, putting her arms around his neck. She chose to ignore the slight stiffening in his back.
“Isn’t he a queer little man?”
“Yes, he is odd.”
“The war’s over.” She plopped into the chair next to Duff, leaning toward him. “The war’s finally over. I can hardly believe it. Can you?”
“No.” Duff stared at his food.
“Eat, eat,” she encouraged him. “You don’t have to worry about being as bony as Mr. Lincoln anymore.” Her giggles erupted. “I can’t wait to see you at your full, glorious size.”
He did not respond to her joke.
“You’re still worried about your past?”
Duff nodded.
“Then you don’t have to eat. Let’s go upstairs.” They stood and went to the door. “Your week has been so hectic. The long trip to Richmond, capped tonight with news of the end of the war—why, no wonder you’re let down.” She paused for a reply from him, but when none was forthcoming, Alethia continued, “You’re tired, that’s all. Why, after a good night’s sleep, you’ll be all rested and able to concentrate on our new life together.”
Duff climbed the service stairs quickly, Alethia noticed. Maybe he was eager to return to their bedrooms where they could be alone, the thought of which made her heart beat faster. Once they entered Duff’s bedroom, he went to the bed and slowly sat, his head sagging. Something was weighing on his mind, and Alethia did not know what it was. She joined him on the bed, her arm around his waist.
“I know I’ve said it before,” Alethia said in a whisper, putting her head on his chest, “but now that we have all the uncertainties of the war behind us, I want to say it again…I love you.”
Duff’s sad eyes stared into Alethia’s open face. She could feel his emotional intensity and leaned in to kiss him. He kissed back passionately for a second, then pulled away.
“No, I can’t do this to you,” he mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not worthy, Alethia.”
“Don’t judge yourself too harshly.” She shook her head. “You told me what you did. Yes, it was terrible, but war’s devastating, forcing good men to do unspeakable things. I forgive you.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“I know everything I want to know. We’re all flawed human beings. You may have killed innocent men, but you saved my soul. All that kept me going was the promise of living with you in Michigan.”
“You can’t go to Michigan.” Standing, he walked to the window and looked out onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Small groups of people were already gathering.
Alethia held her breath when he turned to speak.
“I’ve a wife and three children.”
“You’re married?” Alethia blinked in disbelief. “Oh.” She felt her heart collapse. “Mr. Stanton knew about your family?”
“Yes.”
How foolish she must have looked to Stanton, who had watched as she caressed Duff’s hands and looked fondly at him as he spoke. Stanton must have been laughing at her. Alethia loathed him even more than before. Her eyes turned hard as she focused on Duff.
“Will you tell your wife you deserted, you killed men for food, and you had relations with a woman who thought you loved her?”
Duff remained silent.
“Does she know you’re a coward?”
“Leave tonight,” he said softly. “Don’t wait until Friday.”
Alethia stood, straightening her back in an attempt to keep from crying.
Duff stood also. “I’m very fond of you, Alethia.”
“You seduced me.”
“I think we seduced each other.”
“You’re a coward.” She slapped him hard across the face.
Walking through the bedroom door, she slammed it and sat on her bed. She swore she would never cry again. Perhaps returning to Bladensburg was best. She would never be a fool again. Tad bounded in, rousing Alethia from her thoughts.
“Everybody knows now!” he announced. “Old Tom Pen, Mr. Brooks, Tom Cross, Charles Forbes, Alexander Williamson, Phebe, and Cleotis.” He came close to whisper, “I even talked to Mama through the billiards room door. She said she already knew. Ain’t it wonderful?” He paused long enough to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Oh. I didn’t think about how sad you’d be. I’m really going to miss you, Mrs. Mama. I’ll miss Mr. Papa too, but not as much as you.”
“I’ll miss you too, my love.” Alethia hugged him around the neck. “You see, I never had a son of my own. So you’re the only little boy I’ll ever have.” She pulled out a lace handkerchief to daub her eyes, then smiled and ran her fingers through Tad’s tousled hair. “I’ll keep up with you through the newspapers. I’m sure they’ll report where you go to college, when you graduate, and whom you marry.”
“That’s right.” His eyes widened. “We won’t ever get to talk to each other again. Even if we saw each other on the street we couldn’t even wave. You’ll know about me from newspapers, but I won’t know about you, unless you do something to get in the papers. Like marry somebody important.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen.”
“Do something big. What’s your name, so I’ll know it’s you?”
“Alethia Haliday.”
“That’s a pretty name.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you, Alethia Haliday.”