On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Go easy. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. 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 cried once they were in the great room.
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