Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. You understand what I mean. But, no. 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 carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. But kill me rather than commit this outrage. . ’ The door closed behind them both and Gerald was alone with Melusine.
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