Good or bad, every inch of it was so riddled by the tunnels of
the Wax-moth that it broke in clouds of dust as it was flung on
the heap.
"Oh, see!" cried Sacharissa. "The Great Burning that Our Queen
foretold. Who can bear to look?"
A flame crawled up the pile of rubbish, and they smelt singeing
wax.
The Figures stooped, lifted the Hive and shook it upside down
over the pyre. A cascade of Oddities, chips of broken comb,
scale, fluff, and grubs slid out, crackled, sizzled, popped a
little, and then the flames roared up and consumed all that fuel.
"We must disinfect," said a Voice. "Get me a sulphur-candle,
please."
The shell of the Hive was returned to its place, a light was set
in its sticky emptiness, tier by tier the Figures built it up,
closed the entrance, and went away. The swarm watched the light
leaking through the cracks all the long night. At dawn one
Wax-moth came by, fluttering impudently.
"There has been a miscalculation about the New Day, my dears,"
she began; "one can't expect people to be perfect all at once.
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