They pick themselves up and begin again.

The sky is superb; the weather is hot, calm and propitious for those in search of the Lizard crushed beside the footpath.

Perhaps the effluvia of the gamy tit-bit have reached them, coming from afar, imperceptible to any other sense than that of the Sexton-beetles.

So my Necrophori are fain to go their ways.
Can they?
Nothing would be easier if a glimmer of reason were to aid them.

Through the wire network, over which they have so often strayed, they have seen, outside, the free soil, the promised land which they long to reach.