The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. You see, I have had to look after myself so long that I have developed a terrible bump of independence. 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. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly. "He's safe enough, I assure you. Before her was a great Gothic portal. ” Her answer was terse. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims. ’ ‘Then they are soldiers. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky.
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