Perry has become mere audience. He had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes moments before, when Evelyn had blithely claimed, 'Australia is such a racist shithole.' He cannot abide this tendency of middle-class Australians to endlessly deride their own country. He finds it jejune, ignorant of the world. But Christ, he scolds himself, that's the habit of the bourgeoisie the world over - he is being unfair. In the sanctuary of the bathroom, Perry gives vent to his rage. Safe: how he has come to hate that word! As if the world can ever be free of risk and danger. And the sanctimony of Cora's voice as she delivered her tirade as if her grievances were commensurate with the pain in the world. She, who can marry the woman she loves, raise children independently, who has completed two university degrees and who has blithely escaped the strictures of tradition. As if his own heart doesn't thump when faced with a dark alley and an approaching loud group. He should never have come back. Their childishness floors him. He hates it here - precisely because it is safe.