“The ones Cariolus did for me. ‘And so?’ she asked. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head. 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 was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. Plainly. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark.
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