Sybil Crawley

“Bon.” Pulling himself away from her arms for now, Combeferre sought the small pile of films that had begun to gather next to Sybil’s television, bought from stores or borrowed from friends and co-workers, eager to assist in their cinematic education. Something light was needed on a night like this, a story without the weight of Casablanca, and Combeferre quickly found one that seemed well-suited to cheering Sybil up. “Roman Holiday,” he read, holding up one of the boxes. “Do you know of it?"