Her love for him was almost like a pain in itself.

And, like the prodigal son, he had returned broken in body and also in mind to the house where he had been born, and he and his child had been welcomed with open arms.

Who wanted to live to a hundred and one? Who wanted to go on living at all at times?

The Girl was gone, buried in the past. She never wanted to hear that name again. She was a woman for better for worse. Whatever the future might bring she could face it as a woman, Ned Ridley's woman.

From the hills in the early dawn,Small, thin, mist-wreathed, she came upon him;Hair sodden to the brow,Eyes like agates,Lips apart, tongue flicking at words frozen in her head.Gliding to his feet, She caught his hand and said'come help me, mister, or she'll be dead.

Try not to worry, for time is a great healer.' Such words were futile.

Oh God, I'm sorry I bring trouble on people. I don't mean to, you know that, you know that. And don't punish me by taking Ned. Keep him safe that's all I ask. That's all I'll ever ask again, just keep him safe.

You make your son out to be to be almost an idiot; well let me tell you something, Mrs Loan, if he were a complete idiot, drooling at the mouth, he'd still be a better person then you.

It's no good saying one thing and doing another.