Портрет Доріана Грея

           AgroanbrokefromCampbell’slips,andheshiveredallover. ThetickingoftheclockonthemantelpieceseemedtohimtobedividingTimeintoseparateatomsofagony,eachofwhichwastooterribletobeborne. Hefeltasifanironringwasbeingslowlytightenedroundhisforehead,asifthedisgracewithwhichhewasthreatenedhadalreadycomeuponhim. Thehanduponhisshoulderweighedlikeahandoflead. Itwasintolerable. Itseemedtocrushhim. 

           "Come,Alan,youmustdecideatonce." 

           "Icannotdoit,"hesaid,mechanically,asthoughwordscouldalterthings. 

           "Youmust. Youhavenochoice. Don’tdelay." 

           Hehesitatedamoment. "Isthereafireintheroomupstairs?" 

           "Yes,thereisagas-firewithasbestos." 

           "Ishallhavetogohomeandgetsomethingsfromthelaboratory." 

           "No,Alan,youmustnotleavethehouse. Writeoutonasheetofnote-paperwhatyouwant,andmyservantwilltakeacabandbringthethingsbacktoyou." 

           Campbellscrawledafewlines,blottedthem,andaddressedanenvelopetohisassistant. Doriantookthenoteupandreaditcarefully. Thenherangthebell,andgaveittohisvalet,withorderstoreturnassoonaspossible,andtobringthethingswithhim. 

           Asthehalldoorshut,Campbellstartednervously,and,havinggotupfromthechair,wentovertothechimney-piece.