” “Bring her—here,” Hill muttered. "Yes, or no?" "I will make no terms with you," rejoined Wild, sternly. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. The latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of the assemblage. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. Come and help me pack. 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. This man was her husband in the eyes of both God and man. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling.
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