The Greenbottles 



Let us steel ourselves against the sight: it 

 will be worse elsewhere. 



Here is a fat Snake. Rolled into a com- 

 pact whorl, she fills the whole pan. The 

 Greenbottles are plentiful. New ones arrive 

 at every moment and, without quarrel or 

 strife, take their place among the others, 

 busily laying. The spiral furrow left by the 

 reptile's curves is the favourite spot. Here 

 alone, in the narrow space between the folds, 

 are shelters against the heat of the sun. The 

 glistening Flies take their places, side by side, 

 in rows; they strive to push their abdomen 

 and their ovipositor as far forward as pos- 

 sible, at the risk of rumpling their wings and 

 cocking them towards their heads. The care 

 of the person is neglected amid this serious 

 business. Placidly, with their red eyes turned 

 outwards, they form a continuous cordon. 

 Here and there, at intervals, the rank is 

 broken; layers leave their posts, come and 

 walk about upon the Snake, what time their 

 ovaries ripen for another emission, and then 

 hurry back, slip into the rank and resume the 

 flow of germs. Despite these interruptions, 

 the work of breeding goes fast. In the course 

 of one morning, the depths of the spiral fur- 

 row are hung with a continuous white bark, 



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