She had to have him, her body was going crazy for the want of sex. 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. Sir Rowland then fell. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. ’ Roding looked struck. . ’ They moved to the door, while the lady shrugged, and then seated herself, glancing from the window into the street below, and then turning again to watch them in their huddle at the other side of the library. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was.
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