The attempt was unsuccessful. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. “They all catch on,” she said. Melusine tried to squash down, still trying to maintain her guard. 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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