Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Foolishchild!foolishchild!"wastheparrot-phraseflunginanswer. Thewavingofcrooked,false-jewelledfingersgavegrotesquenesstothewords. 

           Thegirllaughedagain.Thejoyofacagedbirdwasinhervoice. Hereyescaughtthemelody,andechoeditinradiance;thenclosedforamoment,asthoughtohidetheirsecret. Whentheyopened,themistofadreamhadpassedacrossthem. 

           Thin-lippedwisdomspokeatherfromthewornchair,hintedatprudence,quotedfromthatbookofcowardicewhoseauthorapesthenameofcommonsense. Shedidnotlisten.Shewasfreeinherprisonofpassion.Herprince,PrinceCharming,waswithher. ShehadcalledonMemorytoremakehim.Shehadsenthersoultosearchforhim,andithadbroughthimback. Hiskissburnedagainuponhermouth.Hereyelidswerewarmwithhisbreath. 

           ThenWisdomaltereditsmethodandspokeofespialanddiscovery. Thisyoungmanmightberich.Ifso,marriageshouldbethoughtof. Againsttheshellofherearbrokethewavesofworldlycunning. Thearrowsofcraftshotbyher. Shesawthethinlipsmoving,andsmiled. 

           Suddenlyshefelttheneedtospeak.Thewordysilencetroubledher. "Mother,mother,"shecried,"whydoeshelovemesomuch?IknowwhyIlovehim.IlovehimbecauseheislikewhatLovehimselfshouldbe. Butwhatdoesheseeinme?Iamnotworthyofhim.Andyet—why,Icannottell—thoughIfeelsomuchbeneathhim,Idon’tfeelhumble. Ifeelproud,terriblyproud. Mother,didyoulovemyfatherasIlovePrinceCharming?" 

           Theelderwomangrewpalebeneaththecoarsepowderthatdaubedhercheeks, andherdrylipstwitchedwithaspasmofpain. Sibylrushedtoher,flungherarmsroundherneck,andkissedher.