They adjourn. Epiphyte and the Nipponese dine together, but Randy’s bored and distracted. Finally, about nine P.M., he excuses himself and goes to his room. He’s mentally composing a response to root@eruditorum.org, along the lines of because there seems to be a hell of a market for this kind of thing, and it’s better that I fill the niche, than someone frankly and overly evil . But before his laptop has even had time to boot up, the Dentist, clad in a white terrycloth robe and smelling like vodka and hotel soap, knocks on Randy’s door and invites himself in. He invades Randy (no; the shareholders’) bathroom and helps himself to a glass of water. He stands at the shareholders’ window and glowers down at the Nipponese cemetery for several minutes before speaking.