It was from Brendon. She could not help herself. Was she interested in that young ass who was risking his bones over there in the city? They had come up on the same boat. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. 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. They found a river pool and disrobed together as they had for hundreds of years. Lucy inhaled deeply.
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