The batrachomyomachian cure for the superhuman ego is to chop it off at the knees and cut it down to a human, preferably humane, level.

Father Bonn’s parting remark was “Thanks for being such good intervieweresses—or is it interviewerines? Anyway, best wishes to everyone from this repulsive old man.” But those of us who eagerly look forward to the play competition which he judges, know better than to agree with this self-description, do we not?

Like all its brethren, the Lotusman was encased head to foot in a brass atmos-suit, studded with fixtures and gears and spinning clockwork, shielding it from the pollution the rest of the populace breathed daily.

He is following in his father's footprints.