Make haste!" Ruth hurried off to her own room. 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. Laughed at me, then. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor.
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