"The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. 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. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. "Mr. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. “Yes,” she answered, looking away.
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