THE high point of the fourth week of the Reynolds libel trial was undoubtedly Lord Williams's summing up on Wednesday.
After 3 1/2 more hours of video tape of the Dail committee on Monday, followed by a day and a half of painstakingly detailed examination of the last days of the Fianna Fail/Labour government by Mr James Price on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, the punchy, sometimes abusive and, above all, short summing up of Lord Williams will have come as a relief to the jury.
Mr Price took them through the offending article, justifying the phrase "Mr Reynolds went a fib too far" as the "heart of the article".
"If the central core of this article is true, that Mr Reynolds and Fianna Fail did mislead their partners in government, then the defendant is entitled to succeed in this action", he said.
He then went through the events of the three crucial days before the fall of the government, drawing on alleged contradictions in the evidence of Mr Reynolds himself, the evidence of the Dail speeches which had been read to the jury, and the excerpts from the hearings of the Dail committee, either read to the jury of shown to it on video.
He painted a picture of a politician desperate to save his political skin, changing tack according to the political wind, prepared to do anything to keep the Labour Party in government after he had realised the depth of its opposition to the appointment of Mr Harry Whelehan.
He claimed there were a number of "flashes of light" which lit up the landscape. These included notes made by Mr Eoghan Fitzsimons of his meetings with Mr Reynolds, amendments to the draft of the speech he wrote for him, the removal of positive references to Mr Whelehan in his Wednesday speech and a note in Dr Michael Woods's diary.
As he explained in detail how Mr Fitzsimons's notes were compiled, how the secretary misunderstood the instructions, how Mr Reynolds wanted the notes shredded, how one lot was and the other lot wasn't, the jury did not look very illuminated.
His summing up got livelier when he listed all the friends of Mr Reynolds who had not come to give evidence. "He is a lonely figure in this court", he said.
But that may only increase the sympathy of the jury. That is, of course, unless the jury was convinced by his explanation that they did not come because they were afraid of his cross examination.
Lord Williams made the same point, but with much more conviction and verve, about the Sunday Times's only witness, Mr Fergus Finlay. He was a "snake in the "grass", a coward who would not allow his name to be used in the article when he accused Mr Reynolds of lying, a "creature" of Dick Spring who "lurks in the darkness".
He reserved special contempt for Mr Finlay's job description: "He's a programme manager. I don't know what the programme is or what he was managing."
Above all, Lord Williams alleged, he was afraid to take the stand and face cross examination after he had seen the cross examination of Alan Ruddock and John Witherow.
Mr Price had earlier devoted a considerable time to quoting from Irish newspapers which had been very critical of Mr Reynolds at that time. But Lord Williams made what is probably the most telling point in the whole case - their own paper, in its Irish edition, carried an article by Vincent Browne which said the very opposite to the article complained of. Why was this not quoted? Why was Vincent Browne not called to give evidence?
Lord Williams had already sought the jury's sympathy for Albert Reynolds, a "modest man" who had taken four days of cross examination and more than a day of abuse "with grace". He might not speak English like "some people" do, but then "nor do I, for that matter", he said. And nor, we can be sure, do at least some members of the jury speak like the "some people" to whom he was very obviously referring.
In case they missed the point, he rubbed it in. One of Mrs Reynolds's colleagues, Deputy Willie O'Dea, had been grossly insulted, he said. We were not told by whom, but everyone in court knew that the "elocution lessons" quip had come from the Eton educated Mr Price.
"That remark could have been withdrawn. It wasn't", Lord Williams said pointedly.
So in one corner sits Albert Reynolds, a modest man of humble beginnings, albeit a former prime minister whose achievements went far beyond those of anyone else in the courtroom in the other sat the Sunday Times, representative of "the greatest media organisation the world has known", with untold resources behind it. The only people who could withstand the might of such an organisation when aimed at the good name of a decent man were the 11 members of the jury.
As for what the Sunday Times said about Albert Reynolds, it had not proved its central allegation: that he had deliberately lied to the Dail and to his colleagues. All the rest was just smear and tittle tattle, according to Lord Williams.
It is impossible to guess how jury members will reflect on these words, and those of Mr Price, when they retire next week. The six men and five women have sat through four weeks of the most mind numbing excavation of the entrails of a dead government anyone is ever likely to experience.
And it was not even their government. Why should they care? Perhaps they will accept Lord Williams's picture of a great man grievously wronged by the Sunday Times, which did not have the guts to publish this article in Ireland and which brought such suffering to the close knit family to which the plaintiff was so clearly devoted.
Or perhaps they will accept the suggestion of the Sunday Times that this man is just a former prime minister of a foreign country, a politician who, like most politicians, attracts allegations of sleaze and dishonesty like bees attract honey, and that it is the job of honest journalists to fearlessly examine the basis of such allegations.
We should know on Tuesday.