” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. ’ ‘Dunderhead. 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. He drifted in and out of consciousness. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you.
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