Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way. . Lucy felt herself go very red in the cheeks and lowered her hand rather slowly. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. The contest, however, though desperate, was brief. 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. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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