In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. 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. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. How can I tell you all I feel? I love you beyond measure. ” She looked down at the flowers, still in shock, and gently laid them over her arm like a Miss America candidate practicing a crowning ceremony at a pajama party.
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