He thought of his severe attitude towards the girl who was rightly and with contempt refusing his measured help. 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. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. A third that joined this to the chambers at the front of the house. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. .
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