What you say is probably all true and necessary. “You, anyhow, don’t deserve it,” he said. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. 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.
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