“He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was almost as much dejected. She stabbed him with her canines. Winifred, you are deceived in me. 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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