Ennison spoke at last. Here they would be having lunch. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. 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. ‘But I do not pay this penalty. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. There! You are trying to take your hand away. 1.
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