They're on the forward lounge in the saloon. "That young man had better watch his cough," said Spinster Prudence. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners. 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. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. "So it is," the doctor agreed. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. I love my husband.
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