“In this room, amidst a minimal litter of underclothing, there is an almost naked woman, a corspe of rare perversity. Were it not for this dead woman, nothing could disturb so peaceful an interior. Everything in it is neat and tranquil: the spotless floor, the uncluttered table, a tall pedestal table of dark wood. And with the scarf draped softly over the neck, over the shoulder, over the astonishing wound, it would require a certain effort to imagine a severed head.
Turning his back on the dead woman, a young man of great beauty dressed with the most restrained elegance, leaning slightly foward, leaning even so slightly over a gramophone, listens. On his lips, perhaps a smile. At his feet, a suitcase. On a chair, his hat and his overcoat. In the background, at the level of the window sill, three heads stare at the murderer. In the corridor, on either side of the wide-open door, two men are approaching, unable as yet to discern the spectacle. They are ugly customers. Crouching, they hug the wall. One of them unfurls a huge net, the other brandishes a sort of club. All this will be called: ‘The murderer threatened.’” Paul Nougé, Histoire de ne pas rire (1927).
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