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Hetty, looking out of the window—she always smoked her after-breakfast cigarette at the window for the benefit of the less advanced section of Morningside Park society—and trying not to raise objections, saw Miss Stanley going down toward the shops. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. 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 launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. ” “But your dinner!” she protested. To appreciate it you should try rooms. ‘Do you think it is the man in the moon that I mean? What is it that Gérard has told you?’ ‘That you need help. "For what?" "I had the paper with me.
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