She was unusually pale, and her eyes were brilliant. 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. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. She could not help thinking of Capes. Please don’t let any one know that. You have taken even my knife. Brendon.
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