The events of the last few minutes—the phenomenoscopes that 
couldn't be taken off, the unexpected bungee jump, the plunge into cold 
seawater—had left Hackworth in a state of shock. He felt a strong need 
to hole up somewhere and shake off the disorientation. He clambered up toward 
the perimeter of the house, dodging the occasional moving chair, and tracked by 
a few spotlight beams from fellow audience members who had taken a particular 
interest in his personal story. An aperture was above him, glowing with warm 
light, and passing through it, Hackworth found himself in a cozy little bar 
with a curving window that afforded an excellent view of the theatre. It was a 
refuge in more ways than one; he could see normally through the spectacles 
here, they seemed to be giving him an untampered view of reality. He ordered a 
pint of stout from the barman and took a seat at the counter along the window. 
Somewhere around his third or fourth gulp
of stout, he realized that he had already submitted to the Clown's imperative. 
The plunge into the water had taught him that he had no choice but to believe 
in what the spectacles showed his eyes and ears—even though he knew it 
to be false—and to accept the consequences. A pint of stout went some 
distance toward warming up his legs, and toward relaxing his mind. He had come 
here for a show, and he was getting one, and there was no reason to fight it; 
Dramatis Personae might have a dodgy reputation, but no one had ever accused 
them of killing a member of the audience.