He gazed up at the screen. Forty years it had taken him to learn what kind of power was hidden beneath the dulcet tone. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving sound! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved the boink.