The Life of the Weevil 



fragments of madrepores form a conglomer- 

 ation of dead existences. Examined stone 

 by stone, my house would resolve itself into 

 a reliquary, a rag-fair of ancient things that 

 were once alive. 



The rocky stratum from, which we extract 

 our building-materials in these parts covers 

 with its mighty shell the greater portion of 

 the neighbouring uplands. Here the quarry- 

 man has been digging for none knows how 

 many centuries, perhaps since the time when 

 Agrippa hewed Cyclopean blocks to form 

 the stages and the face of the theatre at 

 Orange. And here daily the pick-axe un- 

 covers curious fossils. The most remark- 

 able of these are teeth, still wonderfully pol- 

 ished in the midst of their rough matrix and 

 as bright with enamel as in the fresh state. 

 Some of them are formidable, three-cor- 

 nered, finely jagged at the edges, almost as 

 large as a man's hand. What a yawning 

 gulf, a jaw armed with such a set of teeth in 

 manifold rows, placed stepwise almost to the 

 back of the gullet 1 What mouthfuls, 

 snapped up and lacerated by those notched 

 shears! You shiver at the mere thought of 

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