Портрет Доріана Грея

           Thepicture,changedorunchanged,wouldbetohimthevisibleemblemofconscience. Hewouldresisttemptation. HewouldnotseeLordHenryanymore—wouldnot,atanyrate,listentothosesubtlepoisonoustheoriesthatinBasilHallward’sgardenhadfirststirredwithinhimthepassionforimpossiblethings. HewouldgobacktoSibylVane,makeheramends,marryher,trytoloveheragain. Yes,itwashisdutytodoso. Shemusthavesufferedmorethanhehad. Poorchild! Hehadbeenselfishandcrueltoher. Thefascinationthatshehadexercisedoverhimwouldreturn. Theywouldbehappytogether. Hislifewithherwouldbebeautifulandpure. 

           Hegotupfromhischair,anddrewalargescreenrightinfrontoftheportrait,shudderingasheglancedatit. "Howhorrible! "hemurmuredtohimself,andhewalkedacrosstothewindowandopenedit. Whenhesteppedoutontothegrass,hedrewadeepbreath. Thefreshmorningairseemedtodriveawayallhissombrepassions. HethoughtonlyofSibyl. Afaintechoofhislovecamebacktohim. Herepeatedhernameoverandoveragain. Thebirdsthatweresinginginthedew-drenchedgardenseemedtobetellingtheflowersabouther.