Портрет Доріана Грея

           Hewasagentleman,andhehatedhimforthat,hatedhimthroughsomecuriousrace-instinctforwhichhecouldnotaccount,andwhichforthatreasonwasallthemoredominantwithinhim. Hewasconsciousalsooftheshallownessandvanityofhismother’snature,andinthatsawinfiniteperilforSibylandSibyl’shappiness. Childrenbeginbylovingtheirparents;astheygrowoldertheyjudgethem;sometimestheyforgivethem. 

           Hismother!Hehadsomethingonhismindtoaskofher,somethingthathehadbroodedonformanymonthsofsilence. Achancephrasethathehadheardatthetheatre,awhisperedsneerthathadreachedhisearsonenightashewaitedatthestage-door,hadsetlooseatrainofhorriblethoughts. Heremembereditasifithadbeenthelashofahunting-cropacrosshisface. Hisbrowsknittogetherintoawedge-likefurrow,andwithatwitchofpainhebithisunder-lip. 

           "YouarenotlisteningtoawordIamsaying,Jim,"criedSibyl, "andIammakingthemostdelightfulplansforyourfuture.Dosaysomething." 

           "Whatdoyouwantmetosay?" 

           "Oh!thatyouwillbeagoodboy,andnotforgetus,"sheanswered,smilingathim. 

           Heshruggedhisshoulders. "Youaremorelikelytoforgetme,thanIamtoforgetyou,Sibyl." 

           Sheflushed. "Whatdoyoumean,Jim?"sheasked. 

           "Youhaveanewfriend,Ihear.Whoishe? Whyhaveyounottoldmeabouthim?Hemeansyounogood."