C. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. 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. That would not help her. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. See, it is on my cards—M. But he had been forewarned by his great-nephew.
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