Here they would be having lunch. 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. But the first one was brought home, and it was the beginning of the end. “Lucy, this isn’t funny anymore. The second is to somehow meet Lady Ferringhall. Suddenly a half stifled exclamation broke from Anna’s lips. ’ ‘Even that he is, one must be practical. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. After all, they’re history in the making. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. And experience was slow in coming.
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