Aft of the Finkle-McGraws were a dozen or so other Equity Lords, merely 
earl- or baron-level, mostly ushering grandchildren rather than children into 
the class B suites. Then it was executives, whose gold watch chains, adangle 
with tiny email-boxes, phones, torches, snuffboxes, and other fetishes, curved 
round the dark waistcoats they wore to deemphasize their bellies. Most of their 
children had reached the age when they were no longer naturally endearing to
anyone save their own parents; the size when their energy was more a menace 
than a wonder; and the level of intelligence when what would have been called 
innocence in a smaller child was infuriating rudeness. A honeybee cruising for 
nectar is pretty despite its implicit threat, but the same behavior in a hornet 
three times larger makes one glance about for some handy swatting material. So 
on the broad escalators leading to the first-class staterooms, one could see 
many upper arms being violently grabbed by hissing fathers with their top hats 
askew and teeth clenched and eyes swiveling for witnesses.