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. I have plenty of money, and the Duke will not be in the next Cabinet. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief.
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