She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. 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. He turned to her and pinned her against the headrest with his kisses. “I suppose things have changed?” she said. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently. He would be so disappointed. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper.
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