G'night, kids. He could not kiss Ruth. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. Too late. 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. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. You have been seen loitering with suspicious intent in several places—Paddington, for instance—and I have no doubt at all that you were party to a break-in last week at Remenham House in Kent. That is very bad indeed. “I have come for an explanation,” she said.
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