..”It’s part of the never-ending litany of bizarre noises and strange odors emanating from his cubicle.Weird laughter, inappropriate jokes, bodily...noises. And the Smells. God the Smells.Every. Damn. Day. Sardines in heavy oil. Sardines in Mustard. Once in a while pickled herring. And the occasional tin of smoked oysters. The tins just sit in his trash can. Reeking. All week.I can’t even enjoy my precious coffee.The worst part about the laughter is that nobody is back there with him, and he. I think so, Father.”“Can you find out?”“Y-yes.”“Good. And if he’s not there I want you to find out where he is. Then I want you to write him a letter telling him everything we’ve been through here this morning and asking him to forgive you. If he’s as good a man as you say, I’m sure he will. Now, will you do that?”Chrissy, although still crying, seemed calmer. “Yes, Father. I-I will. Thank you.” Oh, Jane was so proud of him! She wanted to hug him, she wanted to jump up and down.But she. More

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