Pierre Auguste Renoir At The Theatre

Pierre Auguste Renoir At The TheatrePierre Auguste Renoir The Large BathersAlexandre Cabanel Phedre
the breath of God.
Probably the last man who knew how it worked had been tortured to death years before. Or as soon as it was installed. Killing the creator was a traditional method of patent-protection.
There were the levers and there, hanging over pits in the rock floor, were the two sets of counterweights. Probably it'd only take a "Oh. Yeah."
"Where does the shaft go to?"
"Don't know. There's the big Treadmill of Correction through there."
Ah.
The breath of God was ultimately the sweat of men. Didactylos would have appreciated the joke, Urn thought.
He was aware of a sound that had been there all the time but was only now penetrating through his concentration. It was tinny and faint and full of echoes, but it was voices. From few hundred gallons of water to swing the balance either way. Of course, the water'd have to be pumped up-"Sergeant?"Fergmen peered round the door. He looked nervous, like an atheist in a thunderstorm."What?"Urn pointed."There's a big shaft through the wall there, see? At the bottom of the gear-chain?""The what?""The big knobbly wheels?"