the person who opened the door. it's julia; a younger julia, her hair arranged differently, her clothes brighter. it is two weeks before her marriage to larry. she looks at the man on the doorstep without a trace of recognition on her face.
frank. he is not so beraggled as in the first scene, but the heat of the day has brought a sheen of sweat to his face. standing half in shadow he looks almost dangerous.
the remains of a rack of lamb, its gravy now congealed, scraps of meat adhering to the bone here and there. this is the centre-piece of a table reduced to a battlefield by the guests who are laughing off-screen. we pass along the table, taking in dirty plates and cutlery, napkins, glasses and emptied wine bottles. finally, we reach julia, who is still sitting at the table, while the others have retired to more comfortable seats. she looks utterly miserable, and a little drunk.
larry, still sitting at the table. his fingers drum a familiar tattoo. beneath his breath, he hums 'colonel bogey'.