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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. Wild had escaped. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. It was empty. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. He smiled tenderly. Earles would permit. \"Is there something desperately wrong with your house?\" \"There is nothing wrong with our house.
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