Earles answered, glibly. “For nothing, do you call it?” he declared. 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. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood.
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