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    so empty white (even the blue tinge of fish-death was absent) that to call them "milky" would be a misnomer. Marble, perhaps, a more apt comparison, little chunks of flash-frozen perfection from out of a statue. Twin twitching antennae, the only sign of life above the neck. They at once resembled moth-horns and moth-eaten millinery (slain glory, mating signal in vain, cast to rot in a hat-box), and moved like ants on fire. Frantically searching for a