His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. 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. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. ‘In love? I? Don’t be ridiculous. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced.
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