Please, tell me why."Suddenly filled with rage, he jumped up, and started rapidly firing, but two hits out of six attempts only made him madder. "Stup...d mailbox," he shouted.'Seven ... seven years shot to hell ... all because of one ... God, how I hate that fucking bitch, ' he thought while palming the last rock. Drawing a solid bead on the poor mailbox, he let loose with all the fury he could muster. His flash of pride was short lived as it ricocheted off the back of the small metal enclosure. John fancies that it looked rather like the choristers he often saw at Mass on Sundays, in their robes and surplice.That was the image that came to his mind.The texture of the face was pale, almost a creamy hue; but not unhealthy — rather it gave the impression of something new that had just been born into the world.The first time John had met the face was in his bath tub.He was just looking down, and there it was, staring up at him directly and sternly, from underneath the soapy water.Sophie,. More

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