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He was anxious for the sake of this friendship andperhaps too in order to clear himself in his own mindfrom the imputation of having dried and shrunk—for Ramsay lived in a welter of children, whereasBankes was childless and a widower—he was anxiousthat Lily Briscoe should not disparage Ramsay (agreat man in his own way) yet should understandhow things stood between them. Begun long yearsago, their friendship had petered out on a Westmor-land road, where the hen spread her wings before herchicks; after which Ramsay had married, and theirpaths lying different ways, there had been, certainlyfor no one’s fault, some tendency, when they met,to repeat.
Yes. That was it. He finished. He turned fromthe view. And, turning to walk back the other way,up the drive, Mr Bankes was alive to things whichwould not have struck him had not those sandhills