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. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. Possessed of you, I shall have a treasure such as kings could not boast.
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