Портрет Дориана Грея

           Hehurriedontowardstheleft,glancingbacknowandthentoseeifhewasbeingfollowed. Inaboutsevenoreightminuteshereachedasmallshabbyhouse,thatwaswedgedinbetweentwogauntfactories. Inoneofthetop-windowsstoodalamp. Hestopped,andgaveapeculiarknock. 

           Afteralittletimeheheardstepsinthepassage,andthechainbeingunhooked. Thedooropenedquietly,andhewentinwithoutsayingawordtothesquatmisshapenfigurethatflatteneditselfintotheshadowashepassed. Attheendofthehallhungatatteredgreencurtainthatswayedandshookinthegustywindwhichhadfollowedhiminfromthestreet. Hedraggeditaside,andenteredalong,lowroomwhichlookedasifithadoncebeenathird-ratedancing-saloon. Shrillflaringgas-jets,dulledanddistortedinthefly-blownmirrorsthatfacedthem,wererangedroundthewalls. Greasyreflectorsofribbedtinbackedthem,makingquiveringdiscsoflight. Thefloorwascoveredwithochre-colouredsawdust,trampledhereandthereintomud,andstainedwithdarkringsofspiltliquor. SomeMalayswerecrouchingbyalittlecharcoalstoveplayingwithbonecounters,andshowingtheirwhiteteethastheychattered. Inonecorner,withhisheadburiedinhisarms,asailorsprawledoveratable,andbythetawdrily-paintedbarthatranacrossonecompletesidestoodtwohaggardwomenmockinganoldmanwhowasbrushingthesleevesofhiscoatwithanexpressionofdisgust. "Hethinkshe’sgotredantsonhim,"laughedoneofthem,asDorianpassedby. Themanlookedatherinterrorandbegantowhimper. 

           Attheendoftheroomtherewasalittlestaircase,leadingtoadarkenedchamber. AsDorianhurriedupitsthreericketysteps,theheavyodourofopiummethim.