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. She peered into the darkness. Only it was with a further and most unbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat. You are too kind. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door.
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