You have taken even my knife. 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 love some one else. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. " "I will not attempt to combat your resolution, Jack," returned Thames, after a pause. “I want a plain word with you about all this. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired.
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