MY PEOPLE
Late one night Twm told Madlen to read to him about the man who took up his bed and walked. Barely had Madlen begun her reading than Twm groaned and gurgled.
“The end,” said Madlen to herself.
“Twm bach is in the Jordan.”
She moved to the bed; Twm's eyes were opened. She closed them. His face was grey as if the Angel of Death had cast the down from his wings upon it.
The kettle was singing on the hob; Madlen shifted it on to the live coals, and she took the razor out of its case and stropped it on the leather which hung on the bedpost. Twm heard the hissing of the kettle, and he also heard the sound the flat of the blade made on the leather; and he understood. He put his fingers through the stubby beard which had grown on his chin. A fear came over him. He threw back the clothes which covered him, and
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