Auteur: Gontran de Poncins; Pages: 322; Nothing informs man with humility like the Arctic wastes. The moment came when we lost our way in this grey cotton-wool through which we were moving. The air was dense with swirling powder; from the sled itself the dogs were visible only as so many shadowy forms; and Utak left me on my box and disappeared on the run, ahead of the dogs. But was this an igloo? This witch's cave black on one side with the smoke of the lamp and sweating out
