Bells from a church once Catholic startled me into pandemonium. Modeled on Venice's Romanesque San Marco, I entered and—

Detouring up and down drywalled staircases, around gallons of paint and soaking brushes, to a hall where I couldn't help wondering, when I visited the Sea of Galilee, if there were sandbars. One winter day, I sat there on the southern shore near its outlet into the River Jordan, eating a picnic lunch while facing into a cool onshore breeze, looking out over the large lake with the snow-covered uplands of the Golan Heights as its backdrop... And I remember a tall man in a Roman collar was talking on the phone. I waited by browsing bookshelves through empty office windows, then said, "Could you please turn down the volume of your bells!" He smiled and promised he'd

    turn them
        down a
       few no
      tches
.

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