Ann Pilling – The Witch of Lagg (страница 8)

As she listened, though, she realized that it couldn’t be her aunt singing. It must be the radio, or a tape perhaps. But that didn’t make sense. Nobody had brought a tape recorder and they certainly didn’t broadcast church services in the middle of the night … Prill began to feel uneasy.

She crept out of bed, stood in the middle of the room, and listened carefully. The voice was a woman’s, young and sweet, and it had a distinct Scots accent. She was singing a hymn, very slowly and mournfully, something Prill had never heard before:

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