“The little English girl is very fortunate. 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. I haven’t, anyhow. “Once or twice. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. "Those tears will do you good. As they entered the room beyond, a fierce growl was heard. Jack was lying so still, for a moment she panicked.
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