I'll lay my life he's gone. " ***** "To me, you dirty blackguard!" cried Spurlock, flinging aside his helmet. "Somebody ought to get hold of that young man," said Prudence, grimly, as she nodded in Spurlock's direction. 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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