I’m a little tired. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. God knows how you did it. Taber and no one comment upon it. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. "Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. 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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