” She fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. 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. Sepulchre's church was covered—so was the tower.
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