Портрет Дориана Грея

           Forweekshewouldnotgothere,wouldforgetthehideouspaintedthing, andgetbackhislightheart,hiswonderfuljoyousness,hispassionateabsorptioninmereexistence. Then,suddenly,somenighthewouldcreepoutofthehouse,godowntodreadfulplacesnearBlueGateFields,andstaythere,dayafterday,untilhewasdrivenaway. Onhisreturnhewouldsitinfrontofthepicture,sometimesloathingitandhimself, butfilled,atothertimes,withthatprideofindividualismthatishalfthefascinationofsin, andsmilingwithsecretpleasure,atthemisshapenshadowthathadtobeartheburdenthatshouldhavebeenhisown. 

           AfterafewyearshecouldnotenduretobelongoutofEngland, andgaveupthevillathathehadsharedatTrouvillewithLordHenry, aswellasthelittlewhitewalled-inhouseatAlgierswheretheyhadmorethanoncespentthewinter. Hehatedtobeseparatedfromthepicturethatwassuchapartofhislife,andwasalsoafraid thatduringhisabsencesomeonemightgainaccesstotheroom,inspiteoftheelaboratebarsthathehadcausedtobeplaceduponthedoor. 

           Hewasquiteconsciousthatthiswouldtellthemnothing. Itwastruethattheportraitstillpreserved,underallthefoulnessanduglinessoftheface,itsmarkedlikenesstohimself; butwhatcouldtheylearnfromthat? Hewouldlaughatanyonewhotriedtotaunthim. Hehadnotpaintedit. Whatwasittohimhowvileandfullofshameitlooked? Evenifhetoldthem,wouldtheybelieveit? 

           Yethewasafraid.