Their ways had parted soon after the nursery, and, though they had met frequently, they had never trodden the same path again.

For Evasio Mon had been educated as a priest.
"I have often wondered why I have never clashed--with Evasio Mon," Sarrion once said to his son in the reflective quiet of their life at Torre Garda.
"It takes two to clash," replied Marcos at length in his contemplative way, having given the matter his consideration.

And perhaps that was the only explanation of it.
Sarrion looked up now and met the smile with a grave bow.

They took off their hats to each other with rather more ceremony than when they had last met.

A long, slow friendship is the best; a long, slow enmity the deadliest.
"One does not expect to see you in Saragossa," said Mon gently.