“Like a stab. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. Kneebone took his leave. And if you’ve any notion—’ ‘Yes, it is upstairs,’ Melusine agreed, crossing to the library door. “The young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. John knew better. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. 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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