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The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer
wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door
the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the
pink-flowering thorn. From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying,
s... |
As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. He was seated at the piano, with his back
to them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann’s “Forest
Scenes.” “You must lend me these, Basil,” he cried. “I
want to learn them. They are perfectly charming.” “That entirely depends on how you sit to-day, Dorian.” “Oh, I am tire... |
At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from Curzon Street over
to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial if somewhat
rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called selfish because it
derived no particular benefit from him, but who was considered generous by
Society as he fed... |
One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious
arm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry’s house in Mayfair. It
was, in its way, a very charming room, with its high panelled wainscoting of
olive-stained oak, its cream-coloured frieze and ceiling of raised plasterwork,
and its brickdust felt... |
“Mother, Mother, I am so happy!” whispered the girl, burying her
face in the lap of the faded, tired-looking woman who, with back turned to the
shrill intrusive light, was sitting in the one arm-chair that their dingy
sitting-room contained. “I am so happy!” she repeated, “and
you must be happy, too!” Mrs. Vane winced ... |
“I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?” said Lord Henry that
evening as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol where
dinner had been laid for three. “No, Harry,” answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the
bowing waiter. “What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope! They
don’t interest ... |
For some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat Jew
manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with an oily
tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box with a sort of pompous humility,
waving his fat jewelled hands and talking at the top of his voice. Dorian Gray
loathed him... |
It was long past noon when he awoke. His valet had crept several times on
tiptoe into the room to see if he was stirring, and had wondered what made his
young master sleep so late. Finally his bell sounded, and Victor came in softly
with a cup of tea, and a pile of letters, on a small tray of old Sevres china,
and drew... |
As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown into the
room. “I am so glad I have found you, Dorian,” he said gravely. “I
called last night, and they told me you were at the opera. Of course, I knew
that was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really gone to.
I passed a dreadf... |
When his servant entered, he looked at him steadfastly and wondered if he had
thought of peering behind the screen. The man was quite impassive and waited
for his orders. Dorian lit a cigarette and walked over to the glass and glanced
into it. He could see the reflection of Victor’s face perfectly. It was
like a placid... |
For years, Dorian Gray could not free himself from the influence of this book.
Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he never sought to free
himself from it. He procured from Paris no less than nine large-paper copies of
the first edition, and had them bound in different colours, so that they might
suit his ... |
It was on the ninth of November, the eve of his own thirty-eighth birthday, as
he often remembered afterwards. He was walking home about eleven o’clock from Lord Henry’s, where
he had been dining, and was wrapped in heavy furs, as the night was cold and
foggy. At the corner of Grosvenor Square and South Audley Street, ... |
He passed out of the room and began the ascent, Basil Hallward following close
behind. They walked softly, as men do instinctively at night. The lamp cast
fantastic shadows on the wall and staircase. A rising wind made some of the
windows rattle. When they reached the top landing, Dorian set the lamp down on the floor,... |
At nine o’clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup of
chocolate on a tray and opened the shutters. Dorian was sleeping quite
peacefully, lying on his right side, with one hand underneath his cheek. He
looked like a boy who had been tired out with play, or study. The man had to touch him twice on the should... |
That evening, at eight-thirty, exquisitely dressed and wearing a large
button-hole of Parma violets, Dorian Gray was ushered into Lady
Narborough’s drawing-room by bowing servants. His forehead was throbbing
with maddened nerves, and he felt wildly excited, but his manner as he bent
over his hostess’s hand was as easy ... |
A cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the
dripping mist. The public-houses were just closing, and dim men and women were
clustering in broken groups round their doors. From some of the bars came the
sound of horrible laughter. In others, drunkards brawled and screamed. Lying back in ... |
A week later Dorian Gray was sitting in the conservatory at Selby Royal,
talking to the pretty Duchess of Monmouth, who with her husband, a
jaded-looking man of sixty, was amongst his guests. It was tea-time, and the
mellow light of the huge, lace-covered lamp that stood on the table lit up the
delicate china and hamme... |
The next day he did not leave the house, and, indeed, spent most of the time in
his own room, sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life
itself. The consciousness of being hunted, snared, tracked down, had begun to
dominate him. If the tapestry did but tremble in the wind, he shook. The dead
leaves t... |
“There is no use your telling me that you are going to be good,”
cried Lord Henry, dipping his white fingers into a red copper bowl filled with
rose-water. “You are quite perfect. Pray, don’t change.” Dorian Gray shook his head. “No, Harry, I have done too many dreadful
things in my life. I am not going to do any more.... |
It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and did not
even put his silk scarf round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking his
cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them
whisper to the other, “That is Dorian Gray.” He remembered how
pleased he used to be when h... |
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