“I s'd think so — they say so.”

“Who told you about her?”

“Why, Lizzie — a-Monday — we seed her goin' past.”

“You'd have to be rattling your tongues if anything went past.”

Brangwen stood musing.

That evening he went up to Cossethay to the “Red Lion”, half with the intention of hearing more.

She was the widow of a Polish doctor, he gathered. Her husband had died, a refugee, in London. She spoke a bit foreign-like, but you could easily make out what she said. She had one little girl named Anna. Lensky was the woman's name, Mrs. Lensky.