Портрет Доріана Грея

           Therewasthemadnessofprideineverywordheuttered. Hestampedhisfootuponthegroundinhisboyishinsolentmanner. Hefeltaterriblejoyatthethoughtthatsomeoneelsewastosharehissecret,andthatthemanwhohadpaintedtheportrait thatwastheoriginofallhisshamewastobeburdenedfortherestofhislifewiththehideousmemoryofwhathehaddone. 

           "Yes,"hecontinued,comingclosertohim,andlookingsteadfastlyintohissterneyes,"Ishallshowyoumysoul. YoushallseethethingthatyoufancyonlyGodcansee." 

           Hallwardstartedback. "Thisisblasphemy,Dorian!"hecried."Youmustnotsaythingslikethat. Theyarehorrible,andtheydon’tmeananything." 

           "Youthinkso? "Helaughedagain. 

           "Iknowso. AsforwhatIsaidtoyouto-night,Isaiditforyourgood. YouknowIhavebeenalwaysastaunchfriendtoyou." 

           "Don’ttouchme. Finishwhatyouhavetosay." 

           Atwistedflashofpainshotacrossthepainter’sface. Hepausedforamoment,andawildfeelingofpitycameoverhim. Afterall,whatrighthadhetopryintothelifeofDorianGray? Ifhehaddoneatitheofwhatwasrumouredabouthim,howmuchhemusthavesuffered! Thenhestraightenedhimselfup,andwalkedovertothefireplace,andstoodthere,lookingattheburninglogs withtheirfrost-likeashesandtheirthrobbingcoresofflame. 

           "Iamwaiting,Basil,"saidtheyoungman,inahard,clearvoice.