She kept her eyes closed. “My darling!” he said, clasping her resolutely in his arms, “my dearest!” “Mr. You’re neither of you any longer under arrest. 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. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. By following her he had discovered her secret nook in the rocks.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQuMjQ5LjEzOCAtIDEwLTA2LTIwMjQgMjA6MDI6NTUgLSAxMDc2Nzk5ODU2
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