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He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us. 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. ‘So now you will please to go away and leave me to my business. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves.
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