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. ‘If you had met her, you’d understand. As it is, we've only a couple of ducks—and they were intended for you. I did not even know where to write and thank you. ‘Yes, but I’m probably chasing moonbeams. ‘Exactement. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her.
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