He halted and looked for the third time at his wristwatch. ‘It is almost time for you to leave, comrade,’ he said to Julia. ‘Wait. The decanter is still half full.’ He filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the stem.
‘What shall it be this time?’ he said, still with the same faint suggestion of irony. ‘To the confusion of the Thought Police? To the death of Big Brother? To humanity? To the future?’