He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. The city presented a terrible picture of devastation. "Yes," answered the girl. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it.
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