“It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. 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 had remained patently unavailable to him. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor.
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