The Life of the Fly 



meat-safe and who lies in wait in the darkness 

 for an opportunity to outwit our vigilance. 

 The other, the Grey Fly, works jointly with 

 the Greenbottles, who do not venture inside 

 our houses and who work in the sunlight. 

 Less timid, however, than they, should the 

 outdoor yield be small, she will sometimes 

 come indoors to perpetrate her villainies. 

 When her business is done, she makes off as 

 fast as she can, for she does not feel at home 

 with us. 



At this moment, my study, a very modest 

 extension of my open-air establishments, has 

 become something of a charnel-house. The 

 Grey Fly pays me a visit. If I lay a piece of 

 butcher's meat on the window-sill, she hastens 

 up, works her will on it and retires. No 

 hiding-place escapes her notice among the jars, 

 cups, glasses and receptacles of every kind 

 with which my shelves are crowded. 



With a view to certain experiments, I col- 

 lected a heap of wasp-grubs, asphyxiated in 

 their underground nests. Stealthily she arrives, 

 discovers the fat pile and, hailing as treasure- 

 trove this provender whereof her race perhaps 

 has never made use before, entrusts to it an 

 instalment of her family. I have left at the 

 bottom of a glass the best part of a hard- 



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