“Aye.”
The clock ticked and the china cats smiled blandly in the silence.
“He’s not come yet?”
“No, he has not.”
Olwyn readjusted her shawl.
“Evan says he’s not taken the trip for twenty years?”
“No, twenty years ago this September.”
“Rhys Goch says he’s gone for new machinery come from Ameriky; has he so?”
At this point there was a chorus of yaps and shrieks from Colwyn Street, on which Sygyn Fawr stood.