It happens to millions. The frightful diagnosis, the aching interlude,
the laboratory check, reprieve. Till next time. It is one of the
you-knows.
Half an hour later I went down to the level of the street. The lobby
of this particular medical building was a poorly lighted, sparsely
furnished marble sepulcher and along it lay a track of corrugated
rubber matting upon which were the coming and going footprints of us
all. I sat on a stone bench.
Weakness was for a while my only sensation.
My thoughts ran feebly.
They had given it back to me.