“You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. See what your misconduct has deprived you of —see what you might have been. The deafening report froze time. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. He was really very bright and clever, with a sort of conversational boldness that was just within the limits of permissible daring. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her. 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. ” “There was no need for such heroism,” Annabel said coldly. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime.
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