Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. 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. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one.
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