"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. “Yes, I remember you now. . ” “It is my wish to be alone,” she said wearily. 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. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise.
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