Sometimes the fog sweeps in from Narsarssuak Fjord, drowning the Quonset huts of the U.S. airport under a grey sea. Sometimes winds from the towering snow-mantled peaks moan across the glacial delta on which the airstrip is built, setting G.I.nerves on edge. In the pale, brief sunlight and long gloom of Greenland's winter, it does not take much to give a G.I. "cabin fever"— a disease which becomes acute when the mail is late.

No one can do much about the mail. But in one of the huts, jauntily labeled Ice Cap Inn, three girls...

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