“He fell over at my feet,” she continued. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. ‘But you are idiot. She dressed quickly, pulling on white jeans and a red tee shirt. I found the door locked as usual, but when we entered this room everything was as you see. 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. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould.
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