Permutations of Sex 



when there is nothing more to be done. It 

 goes on working so that its last vibrations of 

 energy may be used up in fruitless labour. I 

 commend these aberrations to the staunch 

 supporters of reasoning-powers in the animal. 



Before coming to these useless tasks, my 

 laggards have laid their last eggs, of which 

 I know the exact cells, the exact dates. These 

 eggs, as far as the microscopes can tell, differ 

 in no respect from the others, the older ones. 

 They have the same dimensions, the same 

 shape, the same glossiness, the same look of 

 freshness. Nor are their provisions in any 

 way peculiar, being very well-suited to the 

 males, who conclude the laying. And yet 

 these last eggs do not hatch: they wrinkle, 

 fade and wither on the pile of food. In one 

 case, I count three or four sterile eggs among 

 the last lot laid; in another, I find two or only 

 one. Elsewhere in the swarm, fertile eggs 

 have been laid right up to the end. 



Those sterile eggs, stricken with death at 

 the moment of their birth, are too numerous 

 to be ignored. Why do they not hatch like 

 the other eggs, which outwardly they resem- 

 ble in every respect? They have received the 

 same attention from the mother and the same 



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