Портрет Доріана Грея

           "WhatdoyouthinkhashappenedtoBasil? "askedDorian,holdinguphisBurgundyagainstthelight,andwonderinghowitwasthathecoulddiscussthemattersocalmly. 

           "Ihavenottheslightestidea. IfBasilchoosestohidehimself,itisnobusinessofmine. Ifheisdead,Idon’twanttothinkabouthim. Deathistheonlythingthateverterrifiesme. Ihateit." 

           "Why? "saidtheyoungerman,wearily. 

           "Because,"saidLordHenry,passingbeneathhisnostrilsthegilttrellisofanopenvinaigrettebox,"onecansurviveeverythingnowadaysexceptthat. Deathandvulgarityaretheonlytwofactsinthenineteenthcenturythatonecannotexplainaway. Letushaveourcoffeeinthemusic-room,Dorian. YoumustplayChopintome. ThemanwithwhommywiferanawayplayedChopinexquisitely. PoorVictoria! Iwasveryfondofher. Thehouseisratherlonelywithouther. Ofcoursemarriedlifeismerelyahabit,abadhabit. Butthenoneregretsthelossevenofone’sworsthabits. Perhapsoneregretsthemthemost. Theyaresuchanessentialpartofone’spersonality." 

           Doriansaidnothing,butrosefromthetableand,passingintothenextroom,satdowntothepiano andlethisfingersstrayacrossthewhiteandblackivoryofthekeys. Afterthecoffeehadbeenbroughtin,hestopped,and,lookingoveratLordHenry,said, "Harry,diditeveroccurtoyouthatBasilwasmurdered?" 

           LordHenryyawned. "Basilwasverypopular,andalwaysworeaWaterburywatch. Whyshouldhehavebeenmurdered? Hewasnotcleverenoughtohaveenemies. Ofcoursehehadawonderfulgeniusforpainting.