She was emerging from the primordial as Spurlock was declining toward it. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. The devastations, however, were speedily made good, and, in two years more, it was finished. Here lay a heap of knockers of all sizes, from the huge lion's head to the small brass rapper: there, a collection of sign-boards, with the names and calling of the owners utterly obliterated. She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. 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. 112 Sheila needed an early riser: a girl around the house to help cook and clean and walk the dog.
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