The Life of the Weevil 



by its tip : the work was just beginning. At 

 the top of the rod, a lethal stake, the Weevil 

 is suspended in mid-air, at right angles, far 

 from the supporting surface. She is dried- 

 up, dead since I know not how many days. 

 The legs are stiff and contracted under the 

 abdomen. Even if they retained the flex- 

 ibility and the power of extension which was 

 theirs in life, they would not be able, by a 

 long way, to reach the support of the acorn. 

 What has happened then, that the poor 

 wretch should be impaled like an insect in 

 our collections with a pin stuck through its 

 head? 



What has happened is a workshop- 

 accident. Because of the length of her brad- 

 awl, the Weevil begins by working upright, 

 standing on her hind-legs. Imagine a slip, a 

 false move of the two clinging grapnels; and 

 the unskilful Weevil will instantly lose her 

 footing, dragged away by the elasticity of 

 the probe, which she must have forced 

 slightly and bent at the start. Thus lifted 

 to some distance from her foothold, she 

 vainly struggles, hanging in the air; nowhere 

 can her tarsi, those safety anchors, find any- 

 thing to grip. She succumbs exhausted at 

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