He realises it himself.
"In a couple of years," he says, "my lease expires.

My landlord is one of our kind.

He has not put up the rent on any of his houses here, and this has enabled us to stay.

But any day he may sell, or any day he may die, which is the same thing so far as we are concerned.

The house is bought by a money breeder, who builds a sweat shop on the patch of ground at the rear where my grapevine is, adds to the house, and rents it a room to a family.