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 held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. “These are her rooms,” she said. ’ She was seized by two strong hands and drawn close.
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