” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. The boss says to me: 'Higg, here's a guy we want back. 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. Every one else does. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. They got on wonderfully well together. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. ’ ‘It cannot be helped now.
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