Jay once said: "I arrived by the same boat that takes the prisoners to Devil's Island. And I was thinking how strange it would be if I sailed back with them as a murderer. It was in Marseilles. I had picked up two girls in a café, and we were returning by taxi after a night of night clubs. One of the girls kept after me not to let myself get cheated. When we arrived at the hotel the taxi driver asked me for a ridiculously high sum. I argued with him. I was very angry, and yet during that moment I was conscious that I was looking at his face with terrific intensity, as if I were going to kill him, but it was not that; my hatred was like a magnifying glass, taking in all the details, his porous meaty face, his moles with hair growing out of them, his soggy hair falling over his forehead, his cloudy eyes the color of Pernod. Finally we came to an agreement. That night I dreamed that I strangled him. The next day I painted him as I saw him in my dream. It was as if I had done it in reality. People will hate this painting."

"No, they will probably love it," said Lillian. "Djuna says that the criminal relieves others of their wish to commit murder. He acts out the crimes of the world. In your painting you depict the desire of thousands. In your erotic drawings you do the same. They will love your freedom."

At dawn they stood on the Place du Tertre, among houses which seemed about to crumble, to slide away, having been for so long the façades of Utrillo's houses.

Three policemen were strolling, watching. A street telephone rang hysterically in the vaporous dawn. The policemen began to run towards it.

"Someone committed your murder," said Lillian.

Two waiters and a woman began to run after the policemen.

The loud ringing continued. One of the policemen picked up the telephone and to a question put to him he answered: "No, not at all, not at all. Don't worry. Everything is absolutely calm. A very calm night."

Lillian and Jay had sat on the curb and laughed.

But whatever Jay's secret of freedom was, it could not be imparted to Lillian. She could not gain it by contagion. All she could feel were Jay's secret needs: "Lillian, I need you. Lillian, be my guardian angel. Lillian, I need peace in which to work." Love, faithfulness, attentiveness, devotion, always created the same barriers around Lillian, the same limitations, the same taboos.

Jay avoided the moments of beauty in human beings. He stressed their analogies with animals. He added inert flesh, warts, oil to the hair, claws to the nails. He was suspicious of beauty. It was like a puritan's suspicion of make up, a crowd's suspicion of prestidigitators. He had divorced nature from beauty. Nature was neglect, unbuttoned clothes, uncombed hair, homeliness.