I even hate to describe this life, mainly, I guess, because I don't know enough about this poor man to understand what drove him to despair.

The only scene from that life I have is ending a day out on the ice floes, having harpooned ny seals - nothing to show for my day's work - pulling my kayak up on the slopes, walking to my igloo, crawling through the access tunnel, taking off my outer clothing, refusing the hot food my wife is offering me, lying down on the sleeping platform and going inside, deeper than the sleep I first fall into, finally going so deep that I leave my body and die.

I have no idea if or why my natural stamina is so tentative that I cannot apparently sustain the deprivation of a day of unsuccessful hunting!

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