The Burning Matches and the Burning Grass and Twigs of the Little Fire

The man held 70 sulphur matches to the bark of a birch tree. He could not pick and choose, for he had to lift the fuel between the heels of his hands. Small pieces of rotten wood and green moss clung to the twigs; he bit them off as well as he could with his teeth. His flesh was burning: he could smell it deep down below the surface. The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of them,. then he could build another fire. But when he spoke peremptorily, with the sound of whip lashes