There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. I ought to have gone long ago. She could tell that he was leering at her. 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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