Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase. I do not love any one. 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. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination. In any event, I explained that no one lived here and that we’d been called in because of suspected intruders. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. Wood again made his appearance in a more composed frame of mind, and, at his daughter's earnest solicitation, was induced to partake of some refreshment.
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