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 wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. It would have been better had he succeeded in murdering her, she thought. But beyond "amicable agreement in which mutual concessions are made," the word "compromise" was as blank as the Canton wall at night.
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