HONOURABLE COUNCILLORS!" exclaimed the City Mayor, who had become addicted to pep pills: "We will build a Monument to Literature!"

"Hear, hear!" cried the Honourables, rapping their walnut desks.

"A factory of words, Councillors! We have entered the era of production! Authors housed in one thousand rooms, identical as postage stamps, churning out one million words per hour. Leviathan-sized presses with quadruple-expansion engines, enough electrical cable to engirdle the world three times, and reams and reams of paper!"

"Hurray!" shouted the Councillors, and the rapping of their knuckles became deafening.

"We'll flood the market!" cried the Mayor. "The Spirit ...

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