Портрет Доріана Грея

           Thereweresinswhosefascinationwasmoreinthememorythaninthedoingofthem; strangetriumphsthatgratifiedthepridemorethanthepassions,andgavetotheintellectaquickenedsenseofjoy,greaterthananyjoytheybrought,orcouldeverbring,tothesenses. Butthiswasnotoneofthem. Itwasathingtobedrivenoutofthemind,tobedruggedwithpoppies,tobestrangledlestitmightstrangleoneitself. 

           Whenthehalf-hourstruck,hepassedhishandacrosshisforehead,andthengotuphastily, anddressedhimselfwithevenmorethanhisusualcare,givingagooddealofattentiontothechoiceofhisnecktieandscarf-pin,andchanginghisringsmorethanonce. Hespentalongtimealsooverbreakfast,tastingthevariousdishes,talkingtohisvaletaboutsomenewliveriesthathewasthinkingofgettingmadefortheservantsatSelby, andgoingthroughhiscorrespondence. Atsomeofthelettershesmiled. Threeofthemboredhim. Onehereadseveraltimesover,andthentoreupwithaslightlookofannoyanceinhisface. "Thatawfulthing,awoman’smemory! "asLordHenryhadoncesaid. 

           Afterhehaddrunkhiscupofblackcoffee,hewipedhislipsslowlywithanapkin,motionedtohisservanttowait,andgoingovertothetablesatdownandwrotetwoletters. Oneheputinhispocket,theotherhehandedtothevalet. 

           "Takethisroundto152,HertfordStreet,Francis, andifMr.Campbellisoutoftown,gethisaddress." 

           Assoonashewasalone,helitacigarette,andbegansketchinguponapieceofpaper,drawingfirstflowers,andbitsofarchitecture,andthenhumanfaces.