He was as aloof from any survival of
intimacy with his boyhood friends in the city, and, in truth, had lost
track of most of them. "The Friends of the Ace," once bound by oath
to succour one another in peril or poverty, were long ago dispersed;
one or two had died; one or two had gone to live elsewhere; the others
were disappeared into the smoky bigness of the heavy city. Of the
brethren, there remained within his present cognizance only his old
enemy, the red-haired Kinney, now married to Janie Sharon, and Charlie
Johnson, who, out of deference to his mother's memory, had passed the
Amberson Mansion one day, when George stood upon the front steps, and,
looking in fiercely, had looked away with continued fierceness--his
only token of recognition.
On this last homeward walk of his, when George reached the entrance
to Amberson Addition--that is, when he came to where the entrance had
formerly been--he gave a little start, and halted for a moment to
stare. This was the first time he had noticed that the stone pillars,
marking the entrance, had been removed.
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