Портрет Доріана Грея

           JamesVanestoodonthepavementinhorror. Hewastremblingfromheadtofoot. Afteralittlewhileablackshadowthathadbeencreepingalongthedrippingwall,movedoutintothelightandcameclosetohimwithstealthyfootsteps. Hefeltahandlaidonhisarmandlookedroundwithastart. Itwasoneofthewomenwhohadbeendrinkingatthebar. 

           "Whydidn’tyoukillhim? "shehissedout,puttingherhaggardfacequiteclosetohis. "IknewyouwerefollowinghimwhenyourushedoutfromDaly’s. Youfool!Youshouldhavekilledhim. Hehaslotsofmoney,andhe’sasbadasbad." 

           "HeisnotthemanIamlookingfor,"heanswered, "andIwantnoman’smoney. Iwantaman’slife. ThemanwhoselifeIwantmustbenearlyfortynow. Thisoneislittlemorethanaboy. ThankGod,Ihavenotgothisblooduponmyhands." 

           Thewomangaveabitterlaugh. "Littlemorethanaboy!"shesneered. "Why,man,it’snighoneighteenyearssincePrinceCharmingmademewhatIam." 

           "Youlie! "criedJamesVane. 

           Sheraisedherhanduptoheaven. "BeforeGodIamtellingthetruth,"shecried. 

           "BeforeGod?" 

           "Strikemedumbifitain’tso. Heistheworstonethatcomeshere. Theysayhehassoldhimselftothedevilforaprettyface. It’snighoneighteenyearssinceImethim. Hehasn’tchangedmuchsincethen. Ihavethough,"sheadded,withasicklyleer.