Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. 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. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. ’ She shook her head. . To perdition with them all. As a matter of fact, I had never spoken to him before in my life. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. Diane suggested to him that he retire early, and he did so agreeably, halfknowing it to be an order.
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