" "Then, most probably, it was the widow Sheppard," answered Blueskin, sulkily. Lucy treaded down two steps, stunned. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. 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.
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