CHAPTER XVIII. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. The blades on the top spun faster and faster. John spent the first weeks of summer backpacking in Europe, and she heard occasional news from Michelle of his whereabouts. "Leave him to me," he said. But it was only six-thirty. "It reminds you of a red sea suddenly petrified. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. 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.
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