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'll soon find you out. . " When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by his own imagination, McClintock made a negative sign. ’ ‘I swear to you, it is the exact truth,’ he protested. But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further. Ruth, having decided a course for herself—that of renunciation—and having the strength to keep it, met these advances in precisely the mood they were offered. These things are difficult. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. . “Go on!” she commanded. . But that is men all over. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it.
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