This was a much more serious task than he anticipated. “What is the good of talking?” said her brother. 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. She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was on the rim, preparing to make his exit.
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