His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. Just sit down on that stool again and let’s talk of this in cold blood. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. 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. “I am off to-night,” he said.
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