John William Waterhouse Circe offering the Cup to Ulysses painting

John William Waterhouse Circe offering the Cup to Ulysses paintingJohn William Waterhouse Boreas paintingJohn William Waterhouse Ariadne painting
Here it came, boomchickaboom. Then, without warning, he was crying, provoked into real tears by counterfeit emotion, by a disco-beat imitation of pain. It was the one hundred and thirty-seventh psalm, "Super flumina". King David calling out across the centuries. How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land.
"I had to learn the psalms at school," Pamela Chamcha said, sitting on the floor, her head leaning against the sofa-bed, her eyes shut tight. _By the river of Babylon, where we sat down, oh oh we wept_ . . . she stopped the tape, leaned back again, began to recite. "If I forget thee, O jerusalem, let my right hand forget its cunning; if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; yea, if I prefer not Jerusalem in my mirth."
Later, asleep in bed, she dreamed of her convent school, of matins and evensong, of the chanting of psalms, when Jumpy rushed in and shook her awake, shouting, "It's no good, I've got to tell you. He isn't dead. Saladin: he's bloody well alive."