“Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. ’ About to hurry from the little parlour, Melusine remembered Mrs Ibstock. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover 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. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. “Thank Heaven, they are bringing the hors d’oeuvres.
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