He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. 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. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. I am gambling on his intuition.
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