"Then she appeared. A door opened behind me; there was a blur of soft material as Marilyn sped swiftly into Miller's arms, not looking at me until she was hugged in his bear-like embrace. Then she slanted a shy, sleepy smile at me. I had never seen this Marilyn before, in any film or photo. This was no hot sex symbol; this was a little girl, with her face pressed into Daddy's chest, shyly curious of a visitor.
Her face was still rosy, flushed from sleep, and her buttercup-gold hair tangled like a Botticelli cherub. Her eyes had the unreal clarity of the porcelain eyes in a doll; large, wondering, wide apart and slightly turned down at the outsides; and the mouth, timorously half-parted lips; the saucy turned-up nose - here indeed was a delightful evocation of Renoir."
(Magic Hour, Jack Cardiff)