They were familiar but more massive. With a well-simulated unconcern and a heightened color she finished her breakfast. Sheppard. “Do not be frightened, dear,” she said. He crawled underneath the covers with her. 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.
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