They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library.
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