‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. I'll send you word when I catch him. 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. Ten years of military life had taught him caution, but only strengthened a fearless zest for diving into any promising adventure with unalloyed enjoyment. On this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided by the prisoner. “Have to go now. Lucy felt herself go very red in the cheeks and lowered her hand rather slowly. ‘Where did you get that, miss?’ ‘It is the sword of monsieur le major. I want her to get forward, to set her among people who'll understand what to do with her. ‘Not where we’re going. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do.
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