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CRAZY MIXED-UP KIDS?
I was sitting like that a man came over to me and said, ' May I come and talk to you? ' Only it wasn't Rossano Brazzi. It was a French plumber. I was glad to talk to anyone who looked reasonably all right, so we went off together for a walk through Venice. I suppose they all thought I would have madly exciting things to do, and left me to it. It happens everywhere to me. Even here."
I suggested that she rather encouraged people to leave her alone.
"Yes," she said. "It's my own fault, entirely. I have brought it upon myself. I am a rather sharp person. I have a sharp face and a sharp voice. When I speak on the telephone I snap into it. It puts people off, I suppose."
She suddenly leaped up, like a hurdler, and getting down on the floor pulled apart the plugs connecting the heavy cables which supply the electricity for the arclamps.
"Too hot," she explained, sitting down again. She would not have thought of asking anyone else to do this for her.
She manoeuvred restlessly on the narrow chair, twisting her legs underneath her, hugging her knees, wriggling her feet.
"I'm lucky," she said, "that I have a few very good friends. But I don't care much for acquaintances."
Passing acquaintances — like co-stars — tend to be frightened of her. Bob Hope, I gathered, had not yet worked up enough courage to ask her to dinner.
"Why are people so frightened of you?" I asked.
"Because I'm mean," she said.
"Reporters," I said, "are all nervous of you."
"Oh, I'm real mean to reporters," she said.
"Why?"
"They ask me things they have no business asking — why I wear pants."
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