"A husband has little to fear from his wife's kinsfolk. 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. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. I need you every day. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. Get me an interview with her.
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