What about your luggage?” “I could get a few of my things, at any rate,” she said. 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 have been thinking these things over lately, and it seems to me that marriage for a girl is just the supremest thing in life.
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