Wild on his guard against an assassin. Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster. She, however, had no idea of doing anything of the sort. In her sitting-room I found Montague Hill. 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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