“Ass!” he went on, still warming. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. 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 went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. I have never loved you. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. ” The girl shook her head.
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