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"Iss-iss," the tailor mumbled. "Not wanting an old farm do I," Sheremiah cried. "But speak to goodness where the place is. Near you are, calf bach, about affairs." The tailor answered that Rhydwen is in the hollow of the hill which arises from Capel Sion to the moor. In the morning Sheremiah rode forth on his colt, and he said to Shan Rhydwen: "Boy of a pigger am I, whatever."
"Quite grand," Evan answered. "What capel do you go?" "Walham Green, dear man." "Good preach there was by the Respected Eynon Daviss the last Sabbath morning, shall I ask? Eloquent is Eynon." "In the night do I go." "Solemn serious, go you ought in the mornings." "Proper is your saying," Evan agreed. "Perform I would if I could." "Biggish is your round, perhaps?" said Dai. "Iss-iss. No-no."
"Glad am I to hear you talk," said Mali. "Serious pity that my belongings are so few." "Small is your knowledge of the Speeches," Josi rebuked his mother. "How go they: 'Sell all that you have? Iss-iss, all, mam fach." Now Mali lived in Pencoch, which is in the valley about midway between Shop Rhys and the Schoolhouse, and she rented nearly nine acres of the land which is on the hill above Sion.
"Iss-iss," replied Dan. "Good is the Big Man to allow us water bach." "How speech you if I said: 'Unfasten your pond and let him flow into my ditches'?" "The land will suck him before he goes far," Dan answered. Aben departed; and he considered: "Did not Penlan belong to Sheremiah? Travel under would the water and hap spout up in my close. Nice that would be.
"Right for enough is the rascal. But a creature without blemish he pilfered. Hit her and hie her off." As Lissi was about to go, Ben cried from within the house: "The cow the fulbert had was worth two of his cows." "Sure, iss-iss," said Abel. "Go will I to Vicarage with boys capel. Bring the baston, Ben bach."
Funny is the Parson in the white frock. Ach y fy, why for he doesn't have a coat preacher like Respecteds? Ask me that. From where does his Church come from? She is the inheritance of Satan. The only thing he had to leave, and he left her to his friends the parsons. Iss-iss, earnest affair is this. Who gives him his food? We. Who pays for Vicarage? We. Who feeds his pony? We. His cows? We.
Dirty am I; buried I was as I was found, and the shovelers beat the soil through the top of the coffin. Do much will I for one Beybile." "A poor dab you are," said Towy. "Many deeds you have? But no odds to me." "Four I have." "Woe for you, unfortunate." "Iss-iss, horrid is my plight," the woman whined. "Little I did for Him." "Don't draw tears. For eternity you'll weep.
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