"I'm not going to get rid of you just yet. ” At this point she had perceived that she was drifting from her subject. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. 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. They were silent and no longer observant, being more or less exhausted by the tedious action of the chairs.
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