Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Notatall,"answeredLordHenry,"notatall,mydearBasil. YouseemtoforgetthatIammarried,andtheonecharmofmarriageisthatitmakesalifeofdeceptionabsolutelynecessaryforbothparties. Ineverknowwheremywifeis,andmywifeneverknowswhatIamdoing. Whenwemeet—wedomeetoccasionally,whenwedineouttogether,orgodowntotheDuke’s—wetelleachotherthemostabsurdstorieswiththemostseriousfaces. Mywifeisverygoodatit—muchbetter,infact,thanIam. Shenevergetsconfusedoverherdates,andIalwaysdo. Butwhenshedoesfindmeout,shemakesnorowatall. Isometimeswishshewould;butshemerelylaughsatme." 

           "Ihatethewayyoutalkaboutyourmarriedlife,Harry,"saidBasilHallward,strollingtowardsthedoorthatledintothegarden. "Ibelievethatyouarereallyaverygoodhusband, butthatyouarethoroughlyashamedofyourownvirtues. Youareanextraordinaryfellow. Youneversayamoralthing,andyouneverdoawrongthing. Yourcynicismissimplyapose." 

           "Beingnaturalissimplyapose,andthemostirritatingposeIknow,"criedLordHenry,laughing; andthetwoyoungmenwentoutintothegardentogether,andensconcedthemselvesonalongbambooseatthatstoodintheshadeofatalllaurelbush. Thesunlightslippedoverthepolishedleaves. Inthegrass,whitedaisiesweretremulous. 

           Afterapause,LordHenrypulledouthiswatch. "IamafraidImustbegoing,Basil,"hemurmured,"andbeforeIgo,IinsistonyouransweringaquestionIputtoyousometimeago." 

           "Whatisthat?"saidthepainter,keepinghiseyesfixedontheground.