He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. 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. He gripped one of her pert nipples with his fingers as he came inside her. A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn.
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