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I've spent all morning in the Menagerie. I sat in the Vallee des Rapaces and stared at four vautours papes-- Sarcoramphus papas, surprised by the beauty of these New World royals, with their purple and coral heads naked for thrusting into carrion and creamy neck ruffs to soak up liquids. They reminded me of you--silk-pyjamaed with your lambswool scarf, moustache trimmed by the home help who calls you His Majesty, as you issue orders how to present your food between crises in your breathing. Even your cannula looks like an accessory trailing from your nose like a vulture's wattle. I'm waiting for you to start, Papa-- the king must feast first. Do I remind you of the ...