Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Well,Harry,"saidtheoldgentleman,"whatbringsyououtsoearly? Ithoughtyoudandiesnevergotuptilltwo,andwerenotvisibletillfive." 

           "Purefamilyaffection,Iassureyou,UncleGeorge. Iwanttogetsomethingoutofyou." 

           "Money,Isuppose,"saidLordFermor,makingawryface. "Well,sitdownandtellmeallaboutit.Youngpeople,nowadays,imaginethatmoneyiseverything." 

           "Yes,"murmuredLordHenry,settlinghisbuttonholeinhiscoat; "andwhentheygrowoldertheyknowit.ButIdon’twantmoney. Itisonlypeoplewhopaytheirbillswhowantthat,UncleGeorge,andIneverpaymine. Creditisthecapitalofayoungerson,andonelivescharminglyuponit. Besides,IalwaysdealwithDartmoor’stradesmen,andconsequentlytheyneverbotherme. WhatIwantisinformation;notusefulinformation,ofcourse;uselessinformation." 

           "Well,IcantellyouanythingthatisinanEnglishBlue-book,Harry,althoughthosefellowsnowadayswritealotofnonsense. WhenIwasintheDiplomatic,thingsweremuchbetter. ButIheartheylettheminnowbyexamination.Whatcanyouexpect? Examinations,sir,arepurehumbugfrombeginningtoend. Ifamanisagentleman,heknowsquiteenough,andifheisnotagentleman,whateverheknowsisbadforhim." 

           "Mr.DorianGraydoesnotbelongtoBlue-books,UncleGeorge,"saidLordHenry,languidly. 

           "Mr.DorianGray?Whoishe?"askedLordFermor,knittinghisbushywhiteeyebrows.