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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. —"Stay! something occurs to me. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. What little happiness I had I was forced to steal. But, as this produced no effect, and did not even elicit a groan, the prisoner was carried back to Newgate. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. The first set of occupations seemed to her to be altogether too domestic and restricted; for the latter she was dreadfully handicapped by her want of experience. I called myself Anna.
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