Who do you pity? The insect, the book, or the college student who scraped the corpse off the stained page?
Or perhaps you pity the author, who although dead, had his work defiled. What about the reader, who closed the book at an untimely moment and has had to live with the guilt of destroying so many a happiness?
What about those who will yet read this book and find this stain, not knowing its bloody history?
Or what about you, who is reading this page and looking at a picture of a smashed bug? I pity you.