Портрет Доріана Грея

           "Oh,don’tbesoserious,Jim. Youarelikeoneoftheheroesofthosesillymelodramasmotherusedtobesofondofactingin. Iamnotgoingtoquarrelwithyou. Ihaveseenhim,andoh!toseehimisperfecthappiness. Wewon’tquarrel. IknowyouwouldneverharmanyoneIlove,wouldyou?" 

           "Notaslongasyoulovehim,Isuppose,"wasthesullenanswer. 

           "Ishalllovehimforever!"shecried. 

           "Andhe?" 

           "Forever,too!" 

           "Hehadbetter." 

           Sheshrankfromhim. Thenshelaughedandputherhandonhisarm.Hewasmerelyaboy. 

           AttheMarbleArchtheyhailedanomnibus,whichleftthemclosetotheirshabbyhomeintheEustonRoad. Itwasafterfiveo’clock,andSibylhadtoliedownforacoupleofhoursbeforeacting. Jiminsistedthatsheshoulddoso. Hesaidthathewouldsoonerpartwithherwhentheirmotherwasnotpresent. Shewouldbesuretomakeascene,andhedetestedscenesofeverykind. 

           InSibyl’sownroomtheyparted. Therewasjealousyinthelad’sheart,andafierce,murderoushatredofthestrangerwho,asitseemedtohim,hadcomebetweenthem. Yet,whenherarmswereflungroundhisneck,andherfingersstrayedthroughhishair,hesoftened,andkissedherwithrealaffection. Thereweretearsinhiseyesashewentdownstairs.