The darkest days descend, perhaps so that embers might be read; like leaves left in night's teacups. An old maid alone on the balcony of a seaside resort rocks herself to the verge of sleep and there hosts the most spectacular party of them all. Cackling invitations to anyone who happens to hear, in obscure Cyrillic anagrams. (Anna turns to Graham and asks, "Shall we?" Cyril follows behind, half-smoking a cigarette, half-wondering how it came to this.