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. At this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was stationed. “That’s it,” she said. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. " "But, Mac. They shall hear of me no more. ’ Then she jammed her hat on her head all anyhow and ran from the room. “He has asked to see some one,” he whispered to the doctor. "If you two loved each other," went on the doctor, "there would be something to stand on—a reason why for this madness.
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