Chapter 8 Page 130-131
(...) We had come to the Cape too early for ocean bathing, it was still icy cold. But i continued work on streetcar and it was in that cabin that I thought of the exit line for Blanche, which later became somewhat historical: "I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers."
Actually it was true, I always had, and without being often disappointed. In fact, I would guess that chance acquaintances, or strangers, have usually been kinder to me than friends -which does not speak too well for me. To know me is not to love me. At, best, it is to tolerate me, and the drama critics I would say that tolerance seem now to be just about worn out.
