Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Ihadintendednevertoenteryourhouseagain,Gray. Butyousaiditwasamatteroflifeanddeath. "Hisvoicewashardandcold. Hespokewithslowdeliberation. TherewasalookofcontemptinthesteadysearchinggazethatheturnedonDorian. HekepthishandsinthepocketsofhisAstrakhancoat,andseemednottohavenoticedthegesturewithwhichhehadbeengreeted. 

           "Yes:itisamatteroflifeanddeath,Alan,andtomorethanoneperson. Sitdown." 

           Campbelltookachairbythetable,andDoriansatoppositetohim. Thetwomen’seyesmet. InDorian’stherewasinfinitepity. Heknewthatwhathewasgoingtodowasdreadful. 

           Afterastrainedmomentofsilence,heleanedacrossandsaid,veryquietly,butwatchingtheeffectofeachworduponthefaceofhimhehadsentfor,"Alan,inalockedroomatthetopofthishouse,aroomtowhichnobodybutmyselfhasaccess,adeadmanisseatedatatable. Hehasbeendeadtenhoursnow. Don’tstir,anddon’tlookatmelikethat. Whothemanis,whyhedied,howhedied,aremattersthatdonotconcernyou. Whatyouhavetodoisthis——" 

           "Stop,Gray. Idon’twanttoknowanythingfurther. Whetherwhatyouhavetoldmeistrueornottrue,doesn’tconcernme. Ientirelydeclinetobemixedupinyourlife. Keepyourhorriblesecretstoyourself. Theydon’tinterestmeanymore." 

           "Alan,theywillhavetointerestyou.Thisonewillhavetointerestyou. Iamawfullysorryforyou,Alan. ButIcan’thelpmyself.