And every time I closed my eyes, Burrich would seize me and shake me like a rag. ‘Stay with me, Fitz,’ he kept saying. ‘Stay with me, stay with me. Come on, boy. You’re not dead. You’re not dead.’ Then suddenly he hugged me to him, his bearded face bristling against mine and his hot tears falling on my face. He rocked me back and forth, sitting in the snow at the edge of my grave. ‘You’re not dead, son. You’re not dead.’
