"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury—we await your answer."
Twilight faded, and across Central Park the skyline of the city changed from steel and concrete to a gossamer web of light and shadow. Jake Emspak sat in peace by his window, the fingers of his right hand resting gently on the gold frame of his wife's picture. He touched a button on the arm of his chair, and in a moment Ed Murrow's features came into focus on the wall-screen.
"The jury in the Corfino case is now locked up for the night," Murrow began, his 80-year-old voice more vibrantly alive than ever. "Tomorrow we may—and very likely will—have a verdict.
"But whatever the verdict, this case has served an epochal purpose—to our time as well as to the law. We have paused for an instant in our frantic drive for technological advancement to ponder the essential meaning of man—and the worth of the human entity.
"It may take years to evaluate and appreciate all of the complex testimony Jake Emspak put into the trial record, for each of us will see in it only what we want to see or are capable of seeing....
"But we may be assured that in the generations to come this case will be footnoted throughout the opening worlds of space by serious students of the law, the sciences and the humanities.
"For tonight, it should suffice to say: Thank you, Jake Emspak—Well done!"
Jake touched the button again, and the screen went dark. Between old friends, there was much that words left unsaid.