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Mary Butts Diary Entry Monday, 20 June 1921
Jimmy and I went out. I took him to the Parc Montsouris. He started ‘going over the case’. The futility wore me down. It had all been said. At best we are waiting for an event. I remember the white hot, rough stones on the terrace above the Rue des Artistes—I said to the daimon ‘this is nothing’. He said ‘take it piece by piece’ . . . We lunched. I tried to be cold and remember my wrongs, but we got friendly. I saw that whatever he was, my grievances were phenomenal rubbish. We went for a stroll, and sat on a concrete rock and he clung to me. I felt a time had come, and nothing had come to fill the time. I shall remember what followed. The sun was behind the concrete rock. The path was covered with tiny pebbles. I turned a little away from him and stared at them, still speaking to the daimon. There was the shadow of my head in my wide hat, very black and large and less of his head, he was sitting back, near it. There was this black shadow, the stones, and the sun. I looked into the small stones and understood . . . I looked twice, and twice he pulled my arm, and said, ‘what are you thinking?’ and I answered, ‘about a magic.’
Later we talked about the third perception and I explained pretty clearly but without emotion. I think that is because he really knows nothing about it. Our positions are reversed—I am [for John] “a great red-haired woman, too much for me.”
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