Портрет Доріана Грея

           Afurrybeecameandbuzzedrounditforamoment. Thenitbegantoscrambleallovertheovalstellatedglobeofthetinyblossoms. Hewatcheditwiththatstrangeinterestintrivialthingsthatwetrytodevelopwhenthingsofhighimportmakeusafraid, orwhenwearestirredbysomenewemotionforwhichwecannotfindexpression, orwhensomethoughtthatterrifiesuslayssuddensiegetothebrainandcallsonustoyield. Afteratimethebeeflewaway.HesawitcreepingintothestainedtrumpetofaTyrianconvolvulus. Theflowerseemedtoquiver,andthenswayedgentlytoandfro. 

           Suddenlythepainterappearedatthedoorofthestudio,andmadestaccatosignsforthemtocomein.Theyturnedtoeachother,andsmiled. 

           "Iamwaiting,"hecried."Docomein.Thelightisquiteperfect,andyoucanbringyourdrinks." 

           Theyroseup,andsauntereddownthewalktogether. Twogreen-and-whitebutterfliesflutteredpastthem,andinthepear-treeatthecornerofthegardenathrushbegantosing. 

           "Youaregladyouhavemetme,Mr.Gray,"saidLordHenry,lookingathim. 

           "Yes,Iamgladnow.IwondershallIalwaysbeglad?" 

           "Always!Thatisadreadfulword.ItmakesmeshudderwhenIhearit. Womenaresofondofusingit.Theyspoileveryromancebytryingtomakeitlastforever. Itisameaninglessword,too. Theonlydifferencebetweenacapriceandalife-longpassionisthatthecapricelastsalittlelonger." 

           Astheyenteredthestudio,DorianGrayputhishanduponLordHenry’sarm. "Inthatcase,letourfriendshipbeacaprice,"hemurmured,flushingathisownboldness, thensteppedupontheplatformandresumedhispose.