Портрет Доріана Грея

           Itwasprettyofher. YoumustdomeadrawingofSibyl,Basil. Ishouldliketohavesomethingmoreofherthanthememoryofafewkissesandsomebrokenpatheticwords." 

           "Iwilltryanddosomething,Dorian,ifitwouldpleaseyou. Butyoumustcomeandsittomeyourselfagain. Ican’tgetonwithoutyou." 

           "Icanneversittoyouagain,Basil. Itisimpossible! "heexclaimed,startingback. 

           Thepainterstaredathim. "Mydearboy,whatnonsense!"hecried. "Doyoumeantosayyoudon’tlikewhatIdidofyou? Whereisit? Whyhaveyoupulledthescreeninfrontofit? Letmelookatit. ItisthebestthingIhaveeverdone. Dotakethescreenaway,Dorian. Itissimplydisgracefulofyourservanthidingmyworklikethat. IfelttheroomlookeddifferentasIcamein." 

           "Myservanthasnothingtodowithit,Basil. Youdon’timagineIlethimarrangemyroomforme? Hesettlesmyflowersformesometimes—thatisall. No;Ididitmyself. Thelightwastoostrongontheportrait." 

           "Toostrong! Surelynot,mydearfellow? Itisanadmirableplaceforit. Letmeseeit. "AndHallwardwalkedtowardsthecorneroftheroom. 

           AcryofterrorbrokefromDorianGray’slips, andherushedbetweenthepainterandthescreen. "Basil,"hesaid,lookingverypale,"youmustnotlookatit. Idon’twishyouto." 

           "Notlookatmyownwork! youarenotserious. Whyshouldn’tIlookatit? "exclaimedHallward,laughing.