She looked wild and unkempt, for all afternoon, shamefully neglecting Prudie and the turnips, she had been out lying in the grass of another hayfield on the high ground to the west of the house, staring down at Ross and the men working on the hill opposite.
I met Elizabeth. And for the first time in years, we talked. At first, she was hostile but then she softened. I kissed her. I love her, Demelza. Not as I did but with fondness–the ghost of a love. I pity her. I want to help her. My conscience sore for I treated her ill. Fifteen years ago I would have given the earth for her. And she hasn’t changed–she’s no less lovely. But I have.