Портрет Дориана Грея

           "Yes,sir,"answeredthegamekeeper. 

           "Wasthepoorfellowmarried? Hadheanypeopledependentonhim? "askedDorian,lookingbored. "Ifso,Ishouldnotlikethemtobeleftinwant,andwillsendthemanysumofmoneyyoumaythinknecessary." 

           "Wedon’tknowwhoheis,sir. ThatiswhatItookthelibertyofcomingtoyouabout." 

           "Don’tknowwhoheis? "saidDorian,listlessly. "Whatdoyoumean? Wasn’theoneofyourmen?" 

           "No,sir. Neversawhimbefore. Seemslikeasailor,sir." 

           ThependroppedfromDorianGray’shand,andhefeltasifhishearthadsuddenlystoppedbeating. "Asailor? "hecriedout. "Didyousayasailor?" 

           "Yes,sir. Helooksasifhehadbeenasortofsailor; tattooedonbotharms,andthatkindofthing." 

           "Wasthereanythingfoundonhim? "saidDorian,leaningforwardandlookingatthemanwithstartledeyes. "Anythingthatwouldtellhisname?" 

           "Somemoney,sir—notmuch,andasix-shooter. Therewasnonameofanykind. Adecent-lookingman,sir,butrough-like. Asortofsailor,wethink." 

           Dorianstartedtohisfeet. Aterriblehopeflutteredpasthim. Heclutchedatitmadly. "Whereisthebody?"heexclaimed. "Quick!Imustseeitatonce." 

           "ItisinanemptystableintheHomeFarm,sir. Thefolkdon’tliketohavethatsortofthingintheirhouses. Theysayacorpsebringsbadluck."