CHAPTER X 



THE GREY FLESH-FLIES 



TLJTERE the costume changes, not the man- 

 ■*■ -*• ner of life. We find the same frequent- 

 ing of dead bodies, the same capacity for the 

 speedy liquefaction of the fleshy matter. I 

 am speaking of an ash-grey Fly, the Green- 

 bottle's superior in size, with brown streaks on 

 her back and silver gleams on her abdomen. 

 Note also the blood-red eyes, with the hard 

 look of the knacker in them. The language of 

 science knows her as Sarcophaga, the flesh- 

 eater; in the vulgar tongue she is the Grey 

 Flesh-fly, or simply the Flesh-fly. 



Let not these expressions, however accurate, 

 mislead us into believing for a moment that 

 the Sarcophagae are the bold company of 

 master-tainters who haunt our dwellings, more 

 particularly in autumn, and plant their vermin 

 in our ill-guarded viands. The author of those 

 offences is Calliphora vomitoria, the Blue- 

 bottle, who is of a stouter build and arrayed 

 in darkest blue. It is she who buzzes against 

 our window-panes, who craftily besieges the 



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