It's ludicrous! It's abhorrent!" "No, it's not. Actually I've never seen the Hollywood Freeway less congested. In fact, we're only forty minutes late. Of course, I wouldn't want to make the run from San Pedro to Beverly Hills every day," Diane answered offhandedly. "No rational, intelligent person would ever be involved in this travesty!" "You'll change your mind once you get there. Quimby's estate in the Hills once belonged to a silent-screen star. Thirty-two fantastic rooms, tennis courts, pool, and a view that is breathtaking." "Diane Stephens, you're ignoring my every word!" "That's because I didn't bring my Funk & Wagnall's to translate whatever it is you've been saying!" Diane retorted, her lips forming a wide, unrepentant grin. "You know something, Ginger, you sound remarkably like the robots you came here to work on." "Really, Diane, that is a magnification of the issue. Stop at the next intersection; the undoubtedly simple solution is a taxi back to San Pedro." "In that outfit you'll be dragged into the bushes by the first man who comes along," Diane countered dryly.
