After all, she was a consummate actress. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. He had the air of a man who has said too much. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. 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. ’ ‘Miss?’ gaped the soldier.
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