Sri Dmitri Vladimirovich, by all means, consign Laura to the funeral pyre, but not before transferring the text your father left on index cards to your own sacred database. Publish a generous, Lauric précis, fruit to baying wolves, on which world-wide competition for an operatic libretto may be based. Promise prize money to be split betwixt composer and librettist who most favourably impress. Deliver purloined Laura, with sacred ash, to literary specialists at Christie’s who, after years of publicity, will auction and disburse. O, Sri Dmitri Vladimirovich, be sole judge of your father’s catapulted design! Be a giant amongst philanthropic pygmies. Preserve! Inspire! Exalt!