Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Nevermind,LadyNarborough. Ismokeagreatdealtoomuch. Iamgoingtolimitmyself,forthefuture." 

           "Praydon’t,LadyRuxton,"saidLordHenry. "Moderationisafatalthing. Enoughisasbadasameal. Morethanenoughisasgoodasafeast." 

           LadyRuxtonglancedathimcuriously. "Youmustcomeandexplainthattomesomeafternoon,LordHenry. Itsoundsafascinatingtheory,"shemurmured,asshesweptoutoftheroom. 

           "Now,mindyoudon’tstaytoolongoveryourpoliticsandscandal,"criedLadyNarboroughfromthedoor."Ifyoudo,wearesuretosquabbleupstairs." 

           Themenlaughed,andMr.Chapmangotupsolemnlyfromthefootofthetableandcameuptothetop. DorianGraychangedhisseat,andwentandsatbyLordHenry. Mr.ChapmanbegantotalkinaloudvoiceaboutthesituationintheHouseofCommons. Heguffawedathisadversaries. Theworddoctrinaire—wordfullofterrortotheBritishmind—reappearedfromtimetotimebetweenhisexplosions.Analliterativeprefixservedasanornamentoforatory. HehoistedtheUnionJackonthepinnaclesofThought. Theinheritedstupidityoftherace—soundEnglishcommonsensehejoviallytermedit—wasshowntobetheproperbulwarkforSociety. 

           AsmilecurvedLordHenry’slips,andheturnedroundandlookedatDorian. 

           "Areyoubetter,mydearfellow?"heasked. "Youseemedratheroutofsortsatdinner." 

           "Iamquitewell,Harry. Iamtired. Thatisall."