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. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. It is no crime, none at all. ’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. Montague Hill.
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