Alpha Book

Then, at that magic
touch of the west wind the house-fly retires to his own peculiar
Inferno, wherever that may be, the mosquito and the gnat pause in their
work of darkness and blood to concert fresh and more bloodthirsty deeds,
and even the joyous and wicked flea tires of the war dance and lays down
his weary head to snatch a hard-earned nap. July drags on, and terrible
August treads the burning streets bleaching the very dust up on the
pavement, scourging the broad campagna with fiery lashes of heat. Then
the white-hot sky reddens in the evening when it cools, as the white
iron does when it is taken from the forge. Then at last, all those who
can escape from the condemned city flee for their lives to the hills,
while those who must face the torment of the sun and the poison of the
air turn pale in their sufferings, feebly curse their fate and then grow
listless, weak and irresponsible as over-driven galley slaves,
indifferent to everything, work, rest, blows, food, sleep and the hope
of release.


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