‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. " "A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly. She refused to eat. Just beyond there would be her heart's desire. 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. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. But it would be too risky.
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