And then these convalescent, brooding, days come tumbling one over the other in silent succession, talking to me in familiar gestures— now the municipal garbage gatherer emptying the bin of yesterday’s waste, then the unsmiling milk vending dame carrying light her kettle and measure, the newspaper boy flinging the day's fare with the same precision over the gate, the twin-jingle of his bicycle bell vanishing round the corner of the street...
I keep reciting the lines again and again as though learning by heart the jingle of an old nursery rhyme… Ding, ****, bell, *****’s in the well! Ding, ****, bell…