For weeks now the sound had persistently interrupted meals and conversations; it had turned formerly simple household tasks into complex feats of mental and physical juggling; it had aborted every attempt at marital felicity. More than once he had felt his fingers curling and uncurling with the itch to grab and throttle that sound into oblivion -- a shameful compulsion, he knew, but compelling nonetheless. In the first few days he had tried everything he could think of to stop it, but none of the tricks that had worked with Albion proved adequate, and even his strongest charms unravelled. After that, he tried to ignore it; and at last resorted to taking long walks just to get away from it.
Right now, however, he would have given anything to hear it again.
Cue the Ominous Horns.