She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car. 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. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. John said nothing. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall.
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