I must not let you go again. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. 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. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions.
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