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. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of Oxford, on my way to Tyburn.
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