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In a few minutes more he had made a breach in the roof wide enough to allow him to pass through. “I want to ask you a question,” he said. In worldly matters Gay was not fortunate. There is worse to come. 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 passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers.
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