If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. But his lips were honourlocked. ‘I told her you couldn’t have been flirting, but she wouldn’t believe me. 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. “Go it, miss!” cried one. She pulled, he rose to his feet. Another coach was then procured, in which the prisoner was placed.
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