The stranger turned his head at the sound. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. 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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