Портрет Доріана Грея

           Themomentshetouchedactuallife,shemarredit,anditmarredher,andsoshepassedaway. MournforOphelia,ifyoulike. PutashesonyourheadbecauseCordeliawasstrangled. CryoutagainstHeavenbecausethedaughterofBrabantiodied. Butdon’twasteyourtearsoverSibylVane. Shewaslessrealthantheyare." 

           Therewasasilence. Theeveningdarkenedintheroom. Noiselessly,andwithsilverfeet,theshadowscreptinfromthegarden. Thecoloursfadedwearilyoutofthings. 

           AftersometimeDorianGraylookedup. "Youhaveexplainedmetomyself,Harry,"hemurmured,withsomethingofasighofrelief. "Ifeltallthatyouhavesaid,butsomehowIwasafraidofit,andIcouldnotexpressittomyself. Howwellyouknowme! Butwewillnottalkagainofwhathashappened. Ithasbeenamarvellousexperience. Thatisall. Iwonderiflifehasstillinstoreformeanythingasmarvellous." 

           "Lifehaseverythinginstoreforyou,Dorian. Thereisnothingthatyou,withyourextraordinarygoodlooks,willnotbeabletodo." 

           "Butsuppose,Harry,Ibecamehaggard,andold,andwrinkled? Whatthen?" 

           "Ah,then,"saidLordHenry,risingtogo—"then,mydearDorian,youwouldhavetofightforyourvictories. Asitis,theyarebroughttoyou. No,youmustkeepyourgoodlooks. Weliveinanagethatreadstoomuchtobewise,andthatthinkstoomuchtobebeautiful. Wecannotspareyou. Andnowyouhadbetterdress,anddrivedowntotheclub. Weareratherlate,asitis." 

           "IthinkIshalljoinyouattheOpera,Harry. Ifeeltootiredtoeatanything. Whatisthenumberofyoursister’sbox?"