Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Ifyoutrytolookatit,Basil,onmywordofhonourIwillneverspeaktoyouagainaslongasIlive. Iamquiteserious. Idon’tofferanyexplanation,andyouarenottoaskforany. But,remember,ifyoutouchthisscreen,everythingisoverbetweenus." 

           Hallwardwasthunderstruck. HelookedatDorianGrayinabsoluteamazement. Hehadneverseenhimlikethisbefore. Theladwasactuallypallidwithrage. Hishandswereclenched,andthepupilsofhiseyeswerelikedisksofbluefire. Hewastremblingallover. 

           "Dorian!" 

           "Don’tspeak!" 

           "Butwhatisthematter? OfcourseIwon’tlookatitifyoudon’twantmeto,"hesaid,rathercoldly,turningonhisheel,andgoingovertowardsthewindow. "But,really,itseemsratherabsurdthatIshouldn’tseemyownwork,especiallyasIamgoingtoexhibititinParisintheautumn. Ishallprobablyhavetogiveitanothercoatofvarnishbeforethat,soImustseeitsomeday,andwhynotto-day?" 

           "Toexhibitit? Youwanttoexhibitit? "exclaimedDorianGray,astrangesenseofterrorcreepingoverhim. Wastheworldgoingtobeshownhissecret? Werepeopletogapeatthemysteryofhislife? Thatwasimpossible. Something—hedidnotknowwhat—hadtobedoneatonce. 

           "Yes;Idon’tsupposeyouwillobjecttothat. GeorgePetitisgoingtocollectallmybestpicturesforaspecialexhibitionintheRuedeSèze,whichwillopenthefirstweekinOctober.