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Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. 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 should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me. 'He that woos a maid',— fol-de-rol—(hiccupping).
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