”Angharad looked up into her grandad’s eyes and saw the tear that threatened to appear some time ago. She saw it meander down his cheek and collect at the side of his lips.“What’s wrong, grandad?” she asked.“Bethani took her from me, you know. Or rather you don’t know, but you do now.”Angharad looked at the picture he was clutching tightly to his chest. She quickly joined him and hugged him close to her; not realising the anguish and hurt he must have gone through in relating his story to her almost a week past.“When?” she asked.“Two years after your mother was born,” he told her, “like you, she had a penchant for the unknown, she was very much like me in that respect.”“Why didn’t she take me, grandad?” Angharad shook her head. “I wanted to go, I wanted to leave, why did she reject me?”Her grandad shook his head.“It was out of this world,” continued Angharad, “the sensations, the pleasure and then at the time you said, it was about to happen, I was about to be converted. Taken by. What could be in there? As she walked, the run-down dwellings on her right gave way to those of better quality; more stone than timber, more glass windows than shutters. There were inns and taverns, too, and other places where strange-smelling smoke drifted out of the windows. There was less noise coming from those last than the taverns, and it made Sara wonder what was going on inside. Even at this early hour, with the sun still not completely up, people were drinking and laughing in common rooms and taverns, though in a less raucous manner than closer to the docks. She sidestepped quickly to avoid one such patron who stumbled down the short flight of steps in front of a place called “Donnelly’s Run,” a lively establishment with upbeat, quirky music drifting out from inside. The sign above the door showed a man with a barrel tucked under his arm, running from another man who was chasing him. Sara got the impression the first man was a thief being pursued by the barrel’s owner, the.
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