The Labyrinth Spider 



joints, various Flies and small Butterflies and 

 carcasses of almost-untouched Locusts, all 

 deprived of their hind-legs, or at least of one. 

 Locusts' legs often dangle, emptied of their 

 succulent contents, on the edges of the web, 

 from the meat-hooks of the butcher's shop. 

 In my urchin-days, days free from prejudices 

 in regard to what one ate, I, like many others, 

 was able to appreciate that dainty. It is the 

 equivalent, on a very small scale, of the larger 

 legs of the Crayfish. 



The rigging-builder, therefore, to whom we 

 have just thrown a Locust attacks the prey at 

 the lower end of a thigh. The bite is a 

 lingering one : once the Spider has planted her 

 fangs, she does not let go. She drinks, she 

 sips, she sucks. When this first point is 

 drained, she passes on to others, to the second 

 haunch in particular, until the prey becomes an 

 empty hulk without losing its outline. 



We have seen that Garden Spiders feed in a 

 similar way, bleeding their venison and drink- 

 ing it instead of eating it. At last, however, 

 in the comfortable post-prandial hours, they 

 take up the drained morsel, chew it, rechew it 

 and reduce it to a shapeless ball. It is a 

 dessert for the teeth to toy with. The Laby- 



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