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. You go cheer him up. I can’t help it. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. "Holloa—what's that?" cried Austin, starting up.
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