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| "Please accept my resignation. I don’t care to belong to any club that would accept me as a member," (Grouch Marx, possibly/probably apocryphal). Gros Morne Table lands, Serpentinite (bumph at Wikipedia):      There goes that dog to wait for his master at the bus stop. He's done this every day for five years. The big problem is that his master died but he doesn't know. You're not going to tell him? Why spoil the fun?            Not comfort exactly, but ... sort of:   |
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