The snowstorm proved such a heavy one that for three days the party at Professor Jeffers cabin were completely stormbound.
Jeffers had been born in Georgia and had moved to the south of England at the age of ten.
He saw the officers, Robertson and Jeffers, enter the office; and noticed a crowd gathering around it.
Witness had since met Jeffers, on the Avenue, and spoken with him on the subject.
It's art and literature, the emotional and spiritual forces that draw men together, isn't it, Jeffers?
"I've had you under surveillance for days," Jeffers' voice said behind him.
Lieutenant Keku had another group, and Commander Jeffers had a third.
A grand project, nevertheless, were Professor Jeffers words.
Mike the Angel left the bridge as Commander Jeffers was putting the brandy back in its hiding place.
There were parcels also—a biggish one, from his father; another from Jeffers, obviously a book.