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His glasses were gone. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. ’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. ’ ‘Eh bien, what then?’ Emile sidled closer. It does sound a little horrid to talk so much about oneself and to have views. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. 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.

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