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. “It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. Shari was snoring soundly. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. Next instant, Gerald felt his wrist seized in an iron grip.
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