In the
summer they live in tents, open to every breeze and cool. They are
healthy, and strong, and happy. Their one problem is food. They have
their times of plenty and times of famine. In good times they feast; in
bad times they die of starvation. But starvation, as a chronic
condition, present with a large number of them all the time, is a thing
unknown. Further, they have no debts.
In the United Kingdom, on the rim of the Western Ocean, live the English
folk. They are a consummately civilised people. Their capital amounts
to at least 300 pounds per head. They gain their food, not by hunting
and fishing, but by toil at colossal artifices. For the most part, they
suffer from lack of shelter. The greater number of them are vilely
housed, do not have enough fuel to keep them warm, and are insufficiently
clothed. A constant number never have any houses at all, and sleep
shelterless under the stars. Many are to be found, winter and summer,
shivering on the streets in their rags. They have good times and bad. In
good times most of them manage to get enough to eat, in bad times they
die of starvation. They are dying now, they were dying yesterday and
last year, they will die to-morrow and next year, of starvation; for
they, unlike the Innuit, suffer from a chronic condition of starvation.
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