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. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. A pretty name for a pretty girl. ‘Do not speak any more for you give yourself pain,’ said Melusine fearfully. ‘If ever I met such a pair of lunatics!’ ‘Give me that, Hilary,’ Gerald said at once, ignoring his remark and reaching out for the handkerchief. She missed them already.
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