“He tried it. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. He rested on one elbow. 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 had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. ” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed.
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