He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. Would to God I had. 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. It was a large room, about twenty feet long and fifteen broad, and had an arched stone roof. Little more’n a week.
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