" Mrs. 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. “These are her rooms,” she said. Very good. She interrupted. For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. I don’t think that the rest of the people here like us very well, do they, Arthur, so we’re obliged to be friends. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t.
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