Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air.
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