Her cheeks flushed a dull red. 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. "If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. She recalled that day of the typhoon and the sloop crashing on the outer reefs. There was more shouting.
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