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. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. Ruth out of the picture, he wouldn't have concerned himself so eagerly in regard to Spurlock's departure. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall.
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