He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. He shuddered. 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. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her.
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