’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. "Oh, Heavens!" cried Mrs. But luncheon and dinners you will sit at my table. ‘It is imbecile that you are. 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.
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