He turned east in the Twenties, threading through the dismal sidestreets until he came at last to the little square with its sycamore trees, its Greek cross of gravel paths, its black and brass fence. He unlocked the street door of No. 33 and entered the kitchen. His heart constricted. There were the Siamese making love to what appeared to be Cooper kneeling on the kitchen floor filling their dinner plate. The figure arose. It was Gabby in blue jeans and a shirt, wearing dark glasses. The plate was empty by the time he forced himself to release her. He looked at her, still without a word. He had knocked the glasses off in the first fierce embrace. She had a lurid black eye. "Can you go inside?" Gabby asked. "Is it all right? We can go down to my place." "It's all right, I think...." They went through the pantry hall into the living room. It was exactly the same, even to the pile of manuscript paper on the piano. "Why shouldn't it be?" Lennox muttered. "I had to give the skunk away," Gabby said. "I didn't know what she ate." "He," Lennox said mechanically. "Raw chicken." "Was it ... all right in the hospital? Did they hurt you?" "No. I'll tell you about it.... Some other time." With his arm around her waist, he paced up and down the long living room slowly, letting his eyes wander, not daring to think. At last he said: "A week's a long time on The Rock." "Sometimes it's a lifetime." "Usually it is. That's why we burn out so fast. Do you remember what you said to me the Sunday we ended this affair?" "You mean began it." "No. That was the end. It's been backwards all along. Here we are at the beginning. Let it be the real beginning." "All right, Jordan." He stopped pacing, took her hand and smiled artificially. "Good afternoon. May I introduce myself? Jordan Lennox." "I'm Gabby Valentine." "What does Gabby stand for?" "Gabrielle." "Jordan stands for Junky. That's a hophead ... a lunatic." "Oh Jord--" "Shh! I'm introducing myself. I'm a crazy man, Miss Valentine. Unbalanced. That's what makes me a successful writer, they say. Some people don't believe talent is talent unless it's crazy. Do you think so?" "No," she answered gravely. "Now while I'm introducing myself, Miss Valentine, I should tell you what I write. You know the dirty words you see written on subway station walls? I write them. That's my job. I also compose poems in public toilets and do dirty drawings...." "Please, Jordan...." "Recently I was graduated to de luxe work ... dirty letters. But I was so crazy I wrote them to--" He began to shake. "Remember what you said? That I was poison. I am. I am. Be kind to me. Kill me." "You know the truth now?" "Yes." "Then don't waste it. Remember it. Don't throw it away. Use it." "How long have you known?" "Since Sunday." "And you're still around? Why aren't you running from me?" "I've known since Sunday morning, not Sunday night. I wasn't running Sunday, was I?"