"You should have told me earlier that he was the craftsman who created you, Perturabo."
"Then I can be harsher on you." ...A craftsman, a piece of cloth, a glass, a rein; the forgeer who smelt iron and stone, the bard of Olympia.
Morse. This is my new name, given by your creation - Perturabo, your failed instrument, your unsuccessful man.
O Emperor, the yoke of our sins is bound by your hands, and like a yoke is tied around your neck. (The author is unspeakably loyal and 100% imperialist)
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