THE BAY OF BUTTERFLIES 271 
and settling without a moment’s hesitation. It 
was as though they had all been here many times 
before, a rendezvous which brooked not an in- 
stant’s delay. From time to time some mass 
spirit troubled them, and, as one butterfly, the 
whole company took to wing. Close as they were 
when resting, they fairly buffeted one another in 
midair. Their wings, striking one another and 
my camera and face, made a strange little rus- 
tling, crisp and crackling whispers of sounds. 
As if a pile of Northern autumn leaves, fallen to 
earth, suddenly remembered days of greenness 
and humming bees, and strove to raise themselves 
again to the bare branches overhead. 
Down came the butterflies again, brushing 
against my clothes and eyes and hands. All that 
I captured later were males, and most were fresh 
and newly emerged, with a scattering of dimmed 
wings, frayed at edges, who flew more slowly, 
with less vigor. Finally the lower patch was 
washed out by the rising tide, but not until the 
water actually reached them did the insects leave. 
I could trace with accuracy the exact reach of 
the last ripple to roll over the flat sand by the 
contour of the remaining outermo*! rank of in- 
sects. / 
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