I am very, very sorry, but you must listen to me. He seemed to be thinking hard. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. He then unfolded his choice and held it before her face. 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. He made a movement toward her, and then recalled the circumstances of their last conversation in that study.
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