I do not think that he has quite got over his surprise at finding you established here. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. “I was watching you at Morningside Park, dear,” said Miss Miniver. 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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