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If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old shattered tables into precipitous depths: If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old charnel-houses: If ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing, world-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:
The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and those whose souls are of feminine and servile nature oh, how hath their game all along abused selfishness! And precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue to abuse selfishness! And "selfless" so did they wish themselves with good reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders! Thus spake Zarathustra.
To let you know with whom you're dealing, my name is Thekla, of the family of cross-spiders. You needn't tell me your name. It makes no difference. You're a fat bit, and you'll taste just as tender and juicy by any name." So little Maya hung in the shade of the blackberry vine, close to the ground, completely at the mercy of the cruel spider, who intended her to die by slow starvation.
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