“Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. Michelle helped her mother clear the table and Lucy thanked her for the meal. He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. 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. At last, she breathed. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. You will also become a very rich man, though I wish that the circumstances had been different.
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