When the savage spirit quits the body from which it has torn itself, then Minos sends it to the seventh maw. It falls into the wood, and there's no place to which it is allotted, but wherever fortune has flung that soul, that is the space where, even as a grain of spelt, it sprouts. It rises as a sapling, a wild plant; and then the Harpies, feeding on its leaves, cause pain and for that pain provide a vent. Like other souls, we shall seek out of the flesh that we have left, but none of us shall wear it; it is not right for any man to have what he himself has cast aside. We'll drag our bodies here; they'll hang in this sad wood, each on the stump of its vindictive shade.