She says that everyone in the house makes too much noise, my Dad snores, and that when the house is empty, the traffic noise is nearly deafening. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. 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. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her.
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