She kept trying to shut her legs, to stop the baby from coming out. "What?… Oh!… Well, good Lord!" He wrenched loose his head and stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. I will see to it as I will be appointed careful watch over her. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. 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.
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