It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. 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. He could scarcely blame her. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. But what would her aunt think of Teddy’s recent off-hand suggestion of marriage? What would she think of the Widgett conversation? Suppose she was to tell her aunt quietly but firmly about the parasitic males of degraded crustacea. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. Anna sprang lightly away across the street.
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