‘Yes, but quite my own fault. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. You're welcome to it. 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. But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle.
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