He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. “In a sense—yes. A sob was strangled in her throat. She could not see clearly. She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. 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. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. " Ruth repeated the word, not in the effect of a query, but ruminantly.
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