THE END OF WORRY 93 



silently approaching and walking round and round her 

 as she died. Worry rolled her head from side to side 

 and pressed her lips to her wooden grave as the last 

 gleam of life burned up for a moment, flickered, and 

 then died down and at last went out. And this was 

 the sad end of Worry, the fly. 



But sadder still is the epilogue. Worry left a 

 train of disease behind her to tell her tale. She 

 had infected children and adults, had killed some and 

 maimed others, and sent many to hospital. It was 

 not her fault, but it was the fault of those who had 

 allowed her, and still allow her to exist. A little 

 trouble, a little care, a little perseverance, and Worry 

 with her kith and kin will disappear, or at all events 

 will diminish in numbers to such an extent as to become 

 harmless. But she has given birth to others and these, 

 unless controlled, will work as much harm as she did 

 and our children will suffer. This is the story of 

 Worry, the fly. 



