’ Roding started. The girl wished that she had come afoot, despite the knowledge that she would have suffered many inconveniences, accidental and intentional jostling, insolence and ribald jest. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. I must!” She threw open the door and pointed to it. “Call it warning, if you like. 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.
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