p. 299 "Murtagh was right about women. Sassenach, I risked my life for ye, committing theft, arson, assault, and murder into the bargain. In return for which ye call me names, insult my manhood, kick me in the ballocks, and claw my face. Then I beat you half to death and tell ye all the most humiliating things have ever happened to me, and you say ye love me." He laid his head on his knees and laughed some more. Finally he rose and held out a hand to me, wiping his eyes with the other. "You're no verra sensible, Sassenach, but I like ye fine. Let's go."
p. 410 He pulled himself gently from my grasp without answering and stood back, suddenly a figure from another time, seen in relief upon a background of hazy hills, the life in his face a trick of the shadowing rock, as if flattened beneath layers of paint, an artist's reminiscence of forgotten places and passions turned to dust. I looked into his eyes, filled with pain and yearning, and he was flesh again, real and immediate, love, husband, man.
p. 434 After breakfast the men prepared to go out, visiting tenants, inspecting fences, mending wagons, and generally enjoying themselves.
p. 580 It was in a way a comforting idea; if there was all the time in the world, then the happenings of a given moment became less important.
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