It was the moment for smiles. 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. Four prisoners, termed "The Partners," had charge of this hold. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. “You had only to ask——” “Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense.
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