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. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. Somewhere, where we can talk without interruption. "Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. Drink the toast, Jack. Now, you know where he is bound. ” “Wherever you like!” he answered, a little absently.
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