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. Except that this music we have been swimming in is divine. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in.
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