Her blonde curls fell low over one eye which she now cocked inquiringly at the director.
"You're trying to liven him up," explained Henshaw.

"That's all--baby-vamp him.

He'll do the rest.

He's quite a good little bit." The Montague girl flopped into the chair, leaned roguishly toward Merton Gill, placed a small hand upon the sleeve of his coat and peered archly at him through beaded lashes, one eye almost hidden by its thatch of curls.

Merton Gill sunk low in his chair, cynically tapped the ash from his tenth cigarette into the coffee cup and raised bored eyes to hers.
"That's it--shoot it, Paul, just a flash." The camera was being wheeled toward them.