There were already several dozen pots of redcurrant and raspberry jelly which they had made in July and as many of blackcurrant jam but they might still need to make some greengage jam and quince jellies if they were to avoid the ignominy of having to buy readymade preserves from Charlie Harrod. She gave herself a little shake then and made a conscious effort to fix her attention. Eliza would look after all that perfectly well, she told herself a little scoldingly; no need to fret over it. All she had to do to help her, as she had promised she would, was to pick over the fruit for blemished parts and to ensure that no unwanted caterpillars and the like lurked in it. A simple enough task, after all. Perhaps I am thinking of the fruit as a way of not thinking about other matters? she wondered then. Though again, perhaps those matters are not so pressing as I feared. And again she tried to concentrate on the job in hand. But it was no use. All she could think of now was not damsons, but Duff, and her concern for and about him.
