She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis. 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. I did not know what God had in mind then. Sebastian dared not approach her. Rummage, my boy, do.
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