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Updated: May 6, 2025
In Triplett's great rough paw was a fountain-pen filler of fresh water which he gently dropped on the flowerlet's unturned face. At exactly one-thirty, solar time, the tiny petals fluttered faintly and closed. "She's gone," groaned Triplett, and dashed a tear, the size of a robin's egg, from his furrowed cheek. In that ghastly light we stared at each other. We were lost!
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