Fahrenheit 815 “Have you ever tasted the rain before?” Clarisse interrupted, as she stopped abruptly at the street corner. The clouds above had darkened threateningly, and the first few drops of rain had begun to stain the sidewalk. “Sometimes I like to tip my head back, open my mouth and let it fill with the glorious rain!” Rev. Montag laughed quietly. “You are a strange girl.” “You know, it tastes like wine…” By now Rev. Montag had become accustomed to Clarisse’s tangents, as strange and wonderful as they were. “You were asking about priests…” “Yes, of course, I’m sorry,” Clarisse...
