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Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip. It is positively hateful to think of it. 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. I took him out of the hands of death.
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