It seemed her mind would shatter like glass from the intensity of the sight of her beloved sister. The crushing silence was broken only by a slow steady drip, drip sound. The sound of blood dripping off the heel of the shoe protruding from under the sheet, echoed off the walls, drilling into Marie's head. "Dear God, it's her," Marie haltingly whispered as the nun stared vacantly somewhere above her head as if bored. Marie felt dizzy. Two years ago on her nineteenth birthday, a furnace explosion killed her mother, and now this. She needed Junny. Junny, the Dutch vernacular for Johnny, was the...