"Take my life, if you're so disposed. 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. Blood, they say, won't come out. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. She felt privileged above other women at parties, where she was on display as all the duchesses and queens looked upon her with envy as he was so clearly entranced by her in every way. ” “That’s rather the theory now,” said Ann Veronica. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house.
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