Портрет Доріана Грея

           Hestruggledmadlyforlife,andbyaterribleeffortwrenchedthetighteningfingersaway. Inasecondheheardtheclickofarevolver,andsawthegleamofapolishedbarrelpointingstraightathishead, andtheduskyformofashortthick-setmanfacinghim. 

           "Whatdoyouwant? "hegasped. 

           "Keepquiet,"saidtheman. "Ifyoustir,Ishootyou." 

           "Youaremad. WhathaveIdonetoyou?" 

           "YouwreckedthelifeofSibylVane,"wastheanswer,"andSibylVanewasmysister. Shekilledherself. Iknowit.Herdeathisatyourdoor.IsworeIwouldkillyouinreturn. ForyearsIhavesoughtyou. Ihadnoclue,notrace. Thetwopeoplewhocouldhavedescribedyouweredead. Iknewnothingofyoubutthepetnamesheusedtocallyou. Ihearditto-nightbychance. MakeyourpeacewithGod,forto-nightyouaregoingtodie." 

           DorianGraygrewsickwithfear. "Ineverknewher,"hestammered. "Ineverheardofher. Youaremad." 

           "Youhadbetterconfessyoursin,forassureasIamJamesVane,youaregoingtodie. "Therewasahorriblemoment. Doriandidnotknowwhattosayordo. "Downonyourknees! "growledtheman. "Igiveyouoneminutetomakeyourpeace—nomore. Igoonboardto-nightforIndia,andImustdomyjobfirst. Oneminute.That’sall." 

           Dorian’sarmsfelltohisside. Paralysedwithterror,hedidnotknowwhattodo. Suddenlyawildhopeflashedacrosshisbrain. "Stop,"hecried. "Howlongagoisitsinceyoursisterdied? Quick,tellme!"