"Won't you sit down?" "I beg your pardon! Come into the consultation office"; and the doctor led the way. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. When they came to the round-house, Terry's courage failed him. "It is droll," he said.
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