’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. ” She paused for a moment. “You must come and see me some afternoon,” she said to him. F. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father. . 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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