The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. I did not reckon upon—him. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. ” “It must be most uncomfortable here. In all her life no living thing had had to depend upon her, not even a dog or a cat. ” He made a little noise in his throat as if something had cried out within him, and for a time they were both too full for speech. 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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