You have told me that you cared. ” “Then why,” Anna asked quietly, “do you run away? It is not like you. ” “Perhaps you don’t. 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 wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. I was being stupid.
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