"Impossible!" echoed Wild, with a fearful imprecation. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. Ann Veronica realized that she was alone with the world. Ramage, and might describe the affair to him, she cried “Oh!” with renewed vexation, and repeated some steps of her dance in a new and more ecstatic measure. 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. ‘Then I don’t advise you to visit Remenham House. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you.
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