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. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. ‘En tout cas, it is not reasonable that I could be at all in love with him. . ‘To where has he gone off?’ ‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain. Come along home, Ruth. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. “Well,” she said.
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