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. Treasure caves to explore! All through these trying days she had recurrently wondered what this strange young man would have to say that Dickens and Hugo had not already said. ‘What Frenchman would that be, missie? We ain’t let no one escape. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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