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. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. I must finish it at home. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. But men are so careless, there's no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out. I know. I am sure that he can be got rid of. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her.
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