Entitled Brat Mocks School Custodian, Gets Taught a Priceless Lesson in the Best Way Possible

Entitled Brat Mocks School Custodian, Gets Taught a Priceless Lesson in the Best Way Possible

Entitled teen Emma thought the world revolved around her and she mocked people based on their appearance. One day, the girl took her mockery too far and brutally insulted Mrs. Johnson, a poor older custodian. But karma was about to deliver a priceless lesson this entitled brat wouldn’t soon forget.

Alright, lovely people of the internet! Ever witnessed a high schooler throw some serious shade at someone who totally didn’t deserve it?

Because what I’m about to tell you involves a major brat who ruthlessly mocked a poor old custodian and got a life lesson delivered in the most epic way possible…

A schoolgirl in a hallway | Source: Midjourney

A schoolgirl in a hallway | Source: Midjourney

So here’s this rich girl named Emma in my sophomore English class, who basically waltzed around like she owned the place.

Think designer everything, a posse of giggling followers, and the permanent sneer of someone utterly convinced the world was her personal runway.

Her favorite target? Our sweet custodian, Mrs. Johnson, a hardworking older lady in her late 60s. Think soft-spoken, kind, and always cheerful – that’s Mrs. Johnson for you.

A custodian mopping the floor | Source: Midjourney

A custodian mopping the floor | Source: Midjourney

This sweet custodian in our school, bless her heart, was magic. Always had a smile, even when mopping up cafeteria mystery spills that defied identification.

Emma, though? She’d make snide remarks about Mrs. Johnson’s cleaning cart, calling it a “janitor chariot” in that grating, nasally voice.

A teen girl laughing | Source: Midjourney

A teen girl laughing | Source: Midjourney

One afternoon, I caught Emma dumping her half-eaten lunch on the floor by the water fountain, then sauntering away like it was nothing. Mrs. Johnson patiently approached the mess with a sigh.

“Emma, honey,” she called out gently, “did you drop this?”

A burger on the floor | Source: Midjourney

A burger on the floor | Source: Midjourney

Emma whipped around, highlighter poised like a weapon. “Ugh, whatever, Mrs. J. Just clean it up, that’s your job, right?” The look on Mrs. Johnson’s face… well, let’s just say the sunshine usually radiating from her seemed to dim a bit.

A girl smiling | Source: Midjourney

A girl smiling | Source: Midjourney

Ugh, you know those moments where you just want the earth to swallow you whole? Well, that’s exactly how I felt witnessing Emma’s latest tirade.

This girl, with her designer everything and attitude, seemed to take a particular pleasure in tormenting Mrs. Johnson.

An older woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

An older woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

One lunch period, I rounded the corner by the cafeteria to find Emma holding court near the overflowing trash cans. Mrs. Johnson was pushing her cleaning cart past them, mop leaving a clean streak in its wake.

A girl teasing someone | Source: Midjourney

A girl teasing someone | Source: Midjourney

Emma, with a smirk that could curdle milk, decided to unleash a verbal grenade at the poor woman who never meant harm to anyone.

“HEY, MRS. JOHNSON,” the girl barked with a chuckle, “MAYBE IF YOU HAD STUDIED HARDER, YOU WOULDN’T BE STUCK CLEANING UP AFTER US!”

A sad woman's eyes | Source: Midjourney

A sad woman’s eyes | Source: Midjourney

The worst part? Her disciples as in the little gang that followed her like a puppy burst out laughing. Mrs. Johnson stopped pushing her cart, the rhythmic squeak of the wheels falling silent.

Her shoulders slumped a fraction, and for a horrible moment, I thought I saw a flicker of tears welling up in her kind eyes.

An upset woman looking up | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman looking up | Source: Midjourney

Then, Emma doubled down, leaning in with a malicious glint.

“Seriously, do you even know how to read? Or did you just skip school altogether?”

Mrs. Johnson’s silence was deafening. The hurt flickered in her eyes like a dying flame, and I knew I couldn’t be a bystander any longer. Emma needed a lesson, and detention wouldn’t cut it.

A sad woman on the verge of crying | Source: Midjourney

A sad woman on the verge of crying | Source: Midjourney

Fast forward to chemistry class later that week, our chemistry teacher Ms. Thompson droned on about the periodic table.

Suddenly, she cleared her throat, the sound sharp enough to pierce Emma’s bubble. “Alright class,” she announced, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, “we have a special guest lecturer today. A former university professor with a wealth of knowledge to share.”

A chemistry teacher in class | Source: Midjourney

A chemistry teacher in class | Source: Midjourney

A hush fell over the room as the door creaked open. A woman in a crisp cap and gown strode in, a stack of papers clutched confidently in her hand. Her gaze swept the classroom, lingering for a beat on Emma, who finally looked up from her phone.

You should have seen Emma’s white-as-a-ghost face when she saw the guest lecturer. You see, this wasn’t some stuffy professor flown in from a distant college. No, this woman, radiating quiet authority, was none other than Mrs. Johnson!

A shocked girl | Source: Midjourney

A shocked girl | Source: Midjourney

“Good afternoon, class,” Mrs. Johnson greeted. “Today, we’ll be discussing the fascinating world of…” She paused, letting the silence build. “Perhaps, Ms. Emma,” she continued, her eyes locking with Emma’s, “you can tell me the difference between a hypothesis and a theory.”

The classroom held its breath. Emma’s mouth gaped open like a landed fish. This was only the beginning, and the best part? She had no idea what was about to hit her.

A woman staring intensely at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman staring intensely at someone | Source: Midjourney

Emma’s jaw dropped, and her face turned as red as a tomato. Mrs. Johnson proceeded to give the most engaging lecture on organic chemistry I had ever witnessed.

She explained complex concepts with ease and answered every question thrown at her with the expertise of someone who had spent years in the field.

“So, who can tell me why carbon forms four bonds?” Mrs. Johnson’s eyes scanned the room.

An annoyed girl | Source: Midjourney

An annoyed girl | Source: Midjourney

“Isn’t it because of its four valence electrons?” a boy named Jake piped up, a bit unsure.

“Exactly! And how does that affect its ability to form complex molecules?” Her voice was encouraging, drawing the class in.

“It means… it can bond with many different elements?” a student named Sarah hesitated.

A boy raising his hand in class | Source: Midjourney

A boy raising his hand in class | Source: Midjourney

“Precisely! And that’s why carbon is the backbone of organic chemistry. It’s versatile,” Mrs. Johnson beamed.

Emma, still red-faced, mumbled, “I didn’t know a janitor could know so much.”

A girl lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney

A girl lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney

Mrs. Johnson paused, looking directly at Emma. “You know, knowledge isn’t confined to titles. It’s about passion and curiosity.”

The class was silent, absorbing her words while some giggled at Emma.

“Any more questions?” Mrs. Johnson asked, turning back to the board.

A woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

Emma was so embarrassed and furious that she sat frozen in her seat. Her eyeballs darted around, tracking Mrs. Johnson like a predator stalking its prey.

After the lecture, Mrs. Johnson removed her academic cap and looked directly at Emma.

“Maybe if you study harder, you won’t end up making assumptions about people based on their jobs, girl!” she said calmly.

A woman pointing her finger at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman pointing her finger at someone | Source: Midjourney

The entire class erupted in applause while Emma sat there, stunned and embarrassed.

You should’ve seen the girl’s face. She was seething. She wasn’t the type to let this slide.

The next thing we knew, Emma stormed out of the classroom, her footsteps echoing down the hall. But my mind was still on this entitled brat. What was she planning?

A girl leaving a classroom | Source: Midjourney

A girl leaving a classroom | Source: Midjourney

Of course, Emma, being the firecracker she was, couldn’t take her public humiliation lying down. The rumor mill went into overdrive, churning out a story so outlandish it almost made me laugh.

Apparently, The girl started spreading rumors that Mrs. Johnson had borrowed the professorial garb from a friend (who?) and simply read the lecture off a script (written by whom?).

Funny, right?

A girl in the school cafeteria | Source: Midjourney

A girl in the school cafeteria | Source: Midjourney

The rumor spread like wildfire. Even some normally level-headed students started giving Mrs. Johnson the side-eye. It was infuriating! But Mrs. Johnson, bless her heart, remained calm. No dramatics, no tearful outbursts. She simply… waited.

The opportunity for a counter-strike arrived with the much-dreaded parent-teacher conference the next week. Parents flooded the school, armed with questions and concerns.

People at a doorway | Source: Midjourney

People at a doorway | Source: Midjourney

Among them were Emma’s parents, both prominent figures in the community with a reputation for being… well, let’s just say they wielded their influence like a well-worn scepter.

As I finished my conference with a concerned parent, I spotted Mrs. Johnson standing by the refreshments table.

A woman looking to her side | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking to her side | Source: Midjourney

During the conference, she requested to speak. She calmly walked to the front of the room, pulled out a folder, and began distributing copies of her Ph.D. diploma, letters of recommendation from her previous university, and published research papers.

The parents and teachers were stunned. Even me.

Certificates on a table | Source: Midjourney

Certificates on a table | Source: Midjourney

“As you can see,” Mrs. Johnson declared, “I have the qualifications necessary to teach chemistry.” She paused, letting the evidence sink in. “I’ve heard rumors suggesting otherwise, and I want to address them directly.”

Emma’s parents, visibly uncomfortable, exchanged worried glances. Mrs. Johnson turned her gaze to them. “Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, I’m aware your daughter has been spreading these rumors.”

A startled couple | Source: Midjourney

A startled couple | Source: Midjourney

Emma’s mother started to speak, but Mrs. Johnson raised a hand gently. “Please, let me finish.”

She took a deep breath. “I took this custodial job not because I lacked education or ambition, but because I needed the extra money to care for my ill husband. My choices were driven by love and responsibility, not by a lack of intelligence or effort.”

A woman staring at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman staring at someone | Source: Midjourney

A hush fell over the room. Parents looked at each other, some nodding in understanding, others shifting uncomfortably.

“My husband passed away last year,” Mrs. Johnson continued, tears welling up in her eyes. “But I stayed on as a custodian because this school and these students mean the world to me.”

A woman's teary eyes | Source: Midjourney

A woman’s teary eyes | Source: Midjourney

Emma’s face went completely pale at this point. Mrs. Johnson stepped back from the podium, and said, “I hope this clears up any misunderstandings. I’m here to educate and support your children, no matter my title. I might be a custodian who washes toilets and scrubs floors… but I’m still human.”

Emma’s eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape.

Anxious girl biting her nails | Source: Midjourney

Anxious girl biting her nails | Source: Midjourney

Emma’s parents were mortified. They apologized profusely to Mrs. Johnson and promised to deal with their daughter.

Emma was grounded for months and had to do community service as part of her punishment. One of her tasks? Helping Mrs. Johnson with her custodial duties after school.

A young girl on the verge of crying | Source: Midjourney

A young girl on the verge of crying | Source: Midjourney

I watched Emma begrudgingly pick up a mop and start cleaning the hallway. Mrs. Johnson worked alongside her, showing her the ropes. At first, Emma was sullen and silent, but over time, I noticed a change.

One afternoon, as I passed by, I heard Emma ask Mrs. Johnson, “Why did you stay on as a custodian after your husband passed?”

A girl standing in a school hallway | Source: Midjourney

A girl standing in a school hallway | Source: Midjourney

Mrs. Johnson paused, wiping her hands on a rag. “This school became my second home. And the kids here, well, they needed someone who cared.”

Emma frowned. “But you could have done something else, right?”

Mrs. Johnson smiled gently. “Sure, but sometimes, it’s not about what you can do, but where you feel you can make the most impact.”

A girl talking to someone | Source: Midjourney

A girl talking to someone | Source: Midjourney

Emma’s eyes softened. “I never thought about it that way.”

As the weeks went by, Emma’s demeanor shifted. She began to show up early, ready to work, and started to ask Mrs. Johnson more about her life. They shared stories, and slowly, Emma developed a grudging respect for her.

An older woman's compassionate eyes | Source: Midjourney

An older woman’s compassionate eyes | Source: Midjourney

The girl was ashamed of herself and even apologized to Mrs. Johnson. How cool was that?!

Mrs. Johnson, ever the kind soul, forgave Emma and used the opportunity to mentor her. Eventually, Emma’s grades improved, and she became more considerate towards others.

By the time she graduated, she had completely transformed from the entitled brat she once was.

A cheerful young girl smiling | Source: Midjourney

A cheerful young girl smiling | Source: Midjourney

One afternoon, Emma approached Mrs. Johnson after finishing her custodial duties. I was there, talking to the sweet old lady. I thought Emma would hesitate or feel shy to talk to the custodian in front of me.

But the girl proved me wrong. “Mrs. Johnson, I’m really sorry for everything. I was awful to you,” she said and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

A woman smiling at someone | Source: Midjourney

A woman smiling at someone | Source: Midjourney

Mrs. Johnson smiled gently and replied, “Emma, we all make mistakes. What’s important is that you learn and grow from them.”

Emma nodded, her eyes sincere. “I have, thanks to you.”

Ah, it was such a heartwarming sight, you know! The mentorship deepened, with Mrs. Johnson helping Emma with her studies and offering life advice. Emma’s grades soared, and her attitude shift was noticeable to everyone.

A girl in a classroom | Source: Midjourney

A girl in a classroom | Source: Midjourney

Graduation day arrived, and Emma, now the valedictorian, stood at the podium. She took a deep breath, scanning the audience until her eyes landed on Mrs. Johnson.

“I want to thank someone very special,” she began, “Mrs. Johnson, our school’s custodian and my mentor, taught me the most valuable lesson of all: never judge a book by its cover.”

A young girl on graduation day | Source: Midjourney

A young girl on graduation day | Source: Midjourney

The crowd murmured, and Mrs. Johnson looked surprised and touched. We teachers, along with the principal himself, were equally moved. I even spotted him discreetly wiping a stray tear from his eye.

Emma continued, “Her kindness, wisdom, and support changed my life. Because of her, I’m standing here today, ready to face the future.”

As the applause erupted, the girl stepped down and hugged Mrs. Johnson tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for everything. For opening my eyes.”

A girl on graduation day | Source: Midjourney

A girl on graduation day | Source: Midjourney

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes were misty and all she could do was pull Emma into a tight hug. The room erupted in applause, and even some of us teachers found ourselves wiping away tears.

Lesson learned: never underestimate someone by their appearance!

Mrs. Johnson, the custodian, just dropped some serious knowledge (and a Ph.D.!). Anyone else ever been surprised by someone’s hidden depths? Let’s hear about it!

A woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking ahead | Source: Midjourney

My 16-Year-Old Son Went to Stay with His Grandmother for the Summer – One Day, I Got a Call from Her

When my 16-year-old son offered to spend the summer taking care of his disabled grandmother, I thought he’d finally turned a corner. But one night, a terrifying call from my mother shattered that hope.

“Please, come save me from him!” my mother’s voice whispered through the phone, barely a breath.

A scared elderly woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

A scared elderly woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney

Her words were sharp with fear, a tone I’d never heard from her. My stomach knotted. Before I could respond, the line went dead.

I stared at my phone, disbelief mixing with shock. My strong, fiercely independent mother was scared. And I knew exactly who “him” was.

An angry woman | Source: Pexels

An angry woman | Source: Pexels

My son had always been a handful, but lately, he’d crossed new lines. At sixteen, he was testing every boundary he could find. Rebellious, headstrong, a walking storm of attitude and defiance.

I remembered him coming home from school, slinging his backpack down with a certain grin that I didn’t recognize. “I was thinking about going to Grandma’s this summer,” he’d said. “I mean, you’re always saying she could use more company. I could keep an eye on her.”

A smiling teenager | Source: Pexels

A smiling teenager | Source: Pexels

My first reaction was surprise and a little pride. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf, becoming responsible. But looking back now, as I sped down the darkening highway, his words nagged at me in a way they hadn’t before.

I’d blinked, surprised. “You… want to go stay with Grandma? You usually can’t wait to get out of there.”

A shocked woman | Source: Pexels

A shocked woman | Source: Pexels

“I’ll help take care of her,” he’d said. “You could even let the caregiver go, Mom. Save some money, you know?”

The more I drove, the more pieces of our recent conversations slipped into place in my mind, forming a picture I didn’t like.

“People change,” he’d shrugged with a strange smile. Then he looked up at me with a half-smile. “I mean, I’m almost a man now, right?”

A smiling teenage boy with a phone | Source: Pexels

A smiling teenage boy with a phone | Source: Pexels

I’d brushed it off then, thinking maybe he was finally growing up. But now, that smile felt… off. Not warm or genuine, but like he was playing a part.

As I drove, I remembered other details, things I’d dismissed at the time. A week into his stay, I’d called, wanting to check on my mother directly. He’d answered, cheerful but too fast, like he was steering the call. “Hey, Mom! Grandma’s asleep. She said she’s too tired to talk tonight, but I’ll tell her you called.”

A concerned woman on her phone | Source: Freepik

A concerned woman on her phone | Source: Freepik

Why didn’t I push harder?

My mind raced back to how it all began. It had been just the two of us since his father left when he was two. I’d tried to give him what he needed to stay grounded. But since he hit his teenage years, the small cracks had started widening.

An angry teenage boy | Source: Freepik

An angry teenage boy | Source: Freepik

The only person who seemed to get through to him now and then was my mother. She had a way of disarming him, though even she admitted he was “testing her patience.”

I dialed my mother’s number again, willing her to pick up. My thumb tapped the screen anxiously, but still, nothing.

The sky darkened as the houses became sparse, her rural neighborhood just up ahead. With every mile, my mind replayed his too-smooth excuses, his charming act.

A woman on her phone in her car | Source: Freepik

A woman on her phone in her car | Source: Freepik

As I pulled up to my mother’s house, a chill ran through me. Her lawn, once so tidy, was now overgrown, weeds tangling around the porch steps. The shutters had peeling paint, and the lights were off, as though no one had been home in weeks.

I stepped out of the car, feeling disbelief twisting into a sick anger. Beer bottles and crushed soda cans littered the porch. I could even smell cigarette smoke drifting out through the open window.

A littered porch | Source: Midjourney

A littered porch | Source: Midjourney

My hands shook as I reached for the door, pushing it open.

And there, right in front of me, was chaos.

Strangers filled the living room laughing, drinking, shouting over the music. Half of them looked old enough to be college kids, others barely looked out of high school. My heart twisted, a mixture of fury and heartache flooding through me.

A furious woman | Source: Pexels

A furious woman | Source: Pexels

“Where is he?” I whispered, scanning the crowd, disbelief giving way to a focused rage. I shouldered through people, calling his name. “Excuse me! Move!”

A girl sprawled on the couch glanced up at me, blinking lazily. “Hey, lady, chill out. We’re just having fun,” she slurred, waving a bottle in my direction.

“Where’s my mother?” I snapped, barely able to hold back the edge in my voice.

A shouting woman | Source: Pexels

A shouting woman | Source: Pexels

The girl just shrugged, unconcerned. “Dunno. Haven’t seen any old lady here.”

Ignoring her, I continued through the packed room, shouting my son’s name over the blaring music. I looked from face to face, my heart pounding faster with every step. Every second that passed made the house feel more like a stranger’s, more like a place my mother would never allow, let alone live in.

Teenagers partying | Source: Pexels

Teenagers partying | Source: Pexels

“Mom!” I called, my voice desperate as I reached the end of the hall, near her bedroom door. It was closed, the handle faintly scratched, as though it’d been opened and closed a hundred times in the last hour alone.

I knocked hard, heart racing. “Mom? Are you in there? It’s me!”

A weak, trembling voice replied, barely audible over the noise. “I’m here. Please—just get me out.”

A woman knocking frantically into the closed door | Source: Midjourney

A woman knocking frantically into the closed door | Source: Midjourney

I felt a wave of relief and horror as I fumbled with the handle and threw the door open. There she was, sitting on the bed, her face pale and drawn, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Her hair was mussed, and I could see dark circles under her eyes.

“Oh, Mom…” I crossed the room in a heartbeat, falling to my knees beside her and wrapping my arms around her.

An elderly woman covering her ears | Source: Freepik

An elderly woman covering her ears | Source: Freepik

Her hand, frail but steady, clutched mine. “He started with just a few friends,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But when I told him to stop, he got angry. He… he said I was just getting in the way.” Her voice wavered. “He started locking me in here. Said I was… ruining his fun.”

A sickening wave of anger surged through me. I’d been blind, foolish enough to believe my son’s promise to “help out.” I took a shaky breath, stroking her hand. “I’m going to fix this, Mom. I swear.”

An elderly woman in her bedroom | Source: Freepik

An elderly woman in her bedroom | Source: Freepik

She nodded, gripping my hand, her own fingers cold and trembling. “You have to.”

I walked back to the living room, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. And there was my son, leaning against the wall, laughing with a group of older kids.

When he looked up and saw me, his face went pale.

“Mom? What… what are you doing here?”

A shocked teenage boy | Source: Freepik

A shocked teenage boy | Source: Freepik

“What am I doing here?” I echoed, my voice steady with a calm I didn’t feel. “What are you doing here? Look around! Look at what you’ve done to your grandmother’s home!”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I saw his mask slipping. “It’s just a party. You don’t have to freak out.”

“Get everyone out of here. Now.” My voice was steel, and this time, it cut through the noise. The whole room seemed to freeze. “I’m calling the police if this house isn’t empty in the next two minutes.”

A furious woman | Source: Freepik

A furious woman | Source: Freepik

One by one, the partiers shuffled out, murmuring and stumbling toward the door. The house cleared out, leaving only broken furniture, empty bottles, and my son, who now stood alone in the wreckage he’d made.

When the last guest was gone, I turned to him. “I trusted you. Your grandmother trusted you. And this is how you repay her? This is what you thought ‘helping’ looked like?”

A woman confronting her son | Source: Midjourney

A woman confronting her son | Source: Midjourney

He shrugged, a defensive sneer twisting his face. “She didn’t need the space. You’re always on my case, Mom. I just wanted some freedom!”

“Freedom?” My voice shook with disbelief. “You’re going to learn what responsibility is.” I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of each word. “You’re going to a summer camp with strict rules, and I’m selling your electronics, everything valuable, to pay for the damage. You don’t get a single ‘freedom’ until you earn it.”

An angry woman in her living room | Source: Midjourney

An angry woman in her living room | Source: Midjourney

“What?” His bravado faltered, fear flickering in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” I said, voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “And if you don’t change, you’re out of the house when you turn eighteen. I’m done with excuses.”

The next day, I sent him off to camp. His protests, his anger all faded as the summer passed, and for the first time, he was forced to face the consequences.

A teenage boy in a camp | Source: Pexels

A teenage boy in a camp | Source: Pexels

As I repaired my mother’s house that summer, I felt the pieces of our family begin to mend. Bit by bit, room by room, I cleared the broken glass, patched up the walls, and held on to hope that my son would come home a different person.

After that summer, I saw my son start to change. He grew quieter, steadier, spending evenings studying instead of disappearing with friends.

A boy doing his homework | Source: Pexels

A boy doing his homework | Source: Pexels

Small acts like helping around the house, apologizing without being prompted became routine. Each day, he seemed more aware, more respectful, like he was finally becoming the man I’d hoped for.

Two years later, I watched him walk up my mother’s steps again, head bowed. He was a successful gentleman now, about to graduate school with honors and enroll in a nice college. In his hand was a bouquet, his gaze sincere and soft in a way I’d never seen.

A young man with flowers | Source: Freepik

A young man with flowers | Source: Freepik

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” he said, his voice thick with regret. I held my breath, watching as the boy I’d fought to raise offered her a piece of his heart.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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