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. 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. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Don't ask any more questions. ‘Quite wrong, monsieur. McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts. Their very furniture had mysteriously a high-browed quality, and Mr. "Oh! if I had known this," he exclaimed, "what guilt, what remorse might have been spared me!" "Repentance comes too late when the deed's done," returned Wild, bitterly.
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