“For no other reason than you talk too much. “For luck. He drew a little sigh of relief. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. Mr. 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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