“I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. 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. "Is it wrong, then, to surrender to good impulses?" "In the present instance, yes. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. F. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly.
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