The Bluebottle : The Grub 



iridescent indigo-blue stands out against the 

 severity of the black. 



The frontal hernia that crumbles the sand 

 with its impact has a tendency to make play 

 for some time after the emergence from the 

 ground. Take hold with the forceps of one of 

 the hind-legs of a newly-released Fly. Forth- 

 with, the implement of the head begins to 

 work, swelling and subsiding as energetically 

 as a moment ago, when it had to make a hole 

 in the sand. The insect, hampered in its 

 movements as when it was underground, strug- 

 gles as best it can against the only obstacle that 

 it knows. With its heaving knob, it pounds 

 the air even as but now it pounded the earthy 

 barrier. In all unpleasant circumstances, its 

 one resource is to cleave its head and produce 

 its cranial hernia, which moves out and in, in 

 and out. For nearly two hours, interspersed 

 with halts due to fatigue, the little machine 

 keeps throbbing in my forceps. 



In the meantime, however, the desperate 

 one is hardening her skin ; she spreads wide the 

 sail of her wings and dons her deep mourning 

 of black and darkest blue. Then her eyes, 

 warped sideways, come together and resume 

 their normal position. The cleft forehead 

 closes; the delivering blister goes in, never to 



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