She continued to fan herself. 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. “Is this a concession to Mrs. . ’ He glanced at the captain. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. An old woman took her in.
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