"Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. “How gratified she must have been! If only I had known I would have made an effort to get home in time for dinner. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. . Then I cross-checked it with the name Alberti. Like the Castle, which it resembled in all respects except that it was destitute even of a barrack-bedstead, the Red Room was reserved for state-prisoners, and had not been occupied since the year 1716, when the jail, as has before been mentioned, was crowded by the Preston rebels. Anyhow, now you’ve begun it, there’s nothing to keep us in all this from being the best friends in the world. 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. Undraw the curtain, love," she added to Thames, "that I may look at you. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out.
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