But she had loved the man. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. ” “We will,” said Miss Miniver, refusing to be suppressed, “if some of us have to be killed to get it. The latter were saved; but of the former nothing but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow. I just suppose it isn’t worth the trouble. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. Mr. 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.
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