Day 75?

Of course. Of course. It’s all so simple now! I see it. The spheres use different scales for different modes of speech. Different tones in different scales, some that I can barely hear over the howling of the arctic winds and the pounding of my own heart. Luckily for me, I was a fine student of both the piano and the violin in my time, when such an education was considered to be absolutely necessary for the life of a gentleman. I have nothing but time to work out what the spheres are singing to each other in far greater detail than the first murmurs that I fancied I understood. I hardly even feel the cold anymore, and the pemmican might as well be water as I barely notice its salty unpleasantness anymore. I am convinced, utterly convinced, that within the obscure language of these monoliths will be my ultimate salvation.

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