Miss Leigh even then somehow contriving to look not so much ravished as ravishing.

From Trying to Please by John Julius Norwich.  Page 195. 

The last excitement before we left Belgrade was the arrival of the Stratford Memorial Theatre with their production of Titus Andronicus. It had been directed by Peter Brook, who was there in person together with as star-studded a cast as could be imagined, headed by Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh and with Anthony Quayle playing Aaron the Moor. I knew the Oliviers moderately well: they were old friends of my parents and had stayed several times at the Paris Embassy. Already it was clear that the marriage was under strain. He seemed exhausted, obviously saving every ounce of energy for the next performance; she—whom we later knew to be seriously manic-depressive—was in a manic phase, overanimated, overexcited, game for anything, refusing absolutely to go to bed. None the less, the visit was an enormous success. Though one of the obscurest and, frankly, the least distinguished of Shakespeare’s plays, Titus was given the sort of production of which only Peter Brook was capable and was cheered to the echo. Even the challenge of Shakespeare’s stage direction in the middle of the second act, Enter Lavinia, her hands cut off and her tongue cut out, and ravished, was triumphantly met, Miss Leigh even then somehow contriving to look not so much ravished as ravishing.