She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. 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. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside.
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