Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Thatisveryhorridtoher,andnotverynicetome,"answeredDorian,laughing. 

           LordHenrylookedathim.Yes,hewascertainlywonderfullyhandsome,withhisfinely-curvedscarletlips,hisfrankblueeyes,hiscrispgoldhair. Therewassomethinginhisfacethatmadeonetrusthimatonce. Allthecandourofyouthwasthere,aswellasallyouth’spassionatepurity. Onefeltthathehadkepthimselfunspottedfromtheworld. NowonderBasilHallwardworshippedhim. 

           "Youaretoocharmingtogoinforphilanthropy,Mr.Gray—fartoocharming." AndLordHenryflunghimselfdownonthedivan,andopenedhiscigarette-case. 

           Thepainterhadbeenbusymixinghiscoloursandgettinghisbrushesready. Hewaslookingworried,andwhenheheardLordHenry’slastremarkheglancedathim,hesitatedforamoment,andthensaid, "Harry,Iwanttofinishthispictureto-day. WouldyouthinkitawfullyrudeofmeifIaskedyoutogoaway?" 

           LordHenrysmiled,andlookedatDorianGray."AmItogo,Mr.Gray?"heasked. 

           "Oh,pleasedon’t,LordHenry.IseethatBasilisinoneofhissulkymoods;andIcan’tbearhimwhenhesulks. Besides,IwantyoutotellmewhyIshouldnotgoinforphilanthropy." 

           "Idon’tknowthatIshalltellyouthat,Mr.Gray.Itissotediousasubjectthatonewouldhavetotalkseriouslyaboutit. ButIcertainlyshallnotrunaway,nowthatyouhaveaskedmetostop. Youdon’treallymind,Basil,doyou? Youhaveoftentoldmethatyoulikedyoursitterstohavesomeonetochatto."