This stuff, when not purified by the lustration of fire, rots uncleanly into something we call life; seized through all its atoms with a pediculous malady; swelling in tumours that become independent, sometimes even (by an abhorrent prodigy) locomotory; one splitting into millions, millions cohering into one, as the malady proceeds through varying stages.

But of the locomotory, to which we ourselves belong, we can tell more.

[Note 4: A pediculous malady ... locomotory.