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suddenly the feeling of hostility got the better of him; he
presented to Lawson a cold, set face.
‘What is it?’
‘I suppose you heard about Hayward, didn’t you?’
‘I know he went to the Cape.’
‘He died, you know, soon after landing.’
For a moment Philip did not answer. He could hardly
believe his ears.
‘How?’ he asked.
‘Oh, enteric. Hard luck, wasn’t it? I thought you mightn’t
know. Gave me a bit of a turn when I heard it.’
Lawson nodded quickly and walked away. Philip felt a
shiver pass through his heart. He had never before lost a
friend of his own age, for the death of Cronshaw, a man so
much older than himself, had seemed to come in the nor-
mal course of things. The news gave him a peculiar shock.
It reminded him of his own mortality, for like everyone else
Philip, knowing perfectly that all men must die, had no
intimate feeling that the same must apply to himself; and
Hayward’s death, though he had long ceased to have any
warm feeling for him, affected him deeply. He remembered
on a sudden all the good talks they had had, and it pained
him to think that they would never talk with one another
again; he remembered their first meeting and the pleas-
ant months they had spent together in Heidelberg. Philip’s
heart sank as he thought of the lost years. He walked on
mechanically, not noticing where he went, and realised sud-
denly, with a movement of irritation, that instead of turning
down the Haymarket he had sauntered along Shaftesbury