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turning to page one
Orlean, still dirty from the swamp, holds a phone to her ear and talks to us. She has cute little dirt smudges on her face.
ORLEAN
That night I called Laroche.
ORLEAN
(into phone)
I didn't see anything but bare roots.
And I had this thought. Maybe the ghost
orchid only blooms in the minds of people
who've walked too long in the swamp.