me,quot; insisted Dorian Gray. quot;I t to kno; error y aken its place. ermined to find out Basil ery.
quot;Let us sit do; said ter, looking troubled. quot;Let us sit do ansion. iced in ture somet probably at first did not strike you, but t revealed itself to you suddenly?quot;
quot;Basil!quot; cried tcrembling artled eyes.
quot;I see you did. Dont speak. ait till you I o say. Dorian, from t I met you, your personality extraordinary influence over me. I ed, soul, brain, and poo me tion of t unseen ideal ists like an exquisite dream. I o o myself. I in my art.... Of course, I never let you kno t . I ood it myself. I only kne I ion face to face, and t to my eyes-- too . I y armour, and as Adonis smans cloak and polisus-blossoms you on turbid Nile. You ill pool of some Greek ers silent silver t art se. One day, a fatal day I sometimes termined to paint a rait of you as you actually are, not in tume of dead ages, but in your oime. y, tly presented to me mist or veil, I cannot tell. But I kno as I it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. I gre otry. I felt, Dorian, t I old too muc I too muco it. t I resolved never to alloure to be exed. You tle annoyed; but t realize all t it meant to me. o it, laug me. But I did not mind t. ure , I felt t I my studio, and as soon as I rid of tolerable fascination of its presence, it seemed to me t I I , more t you remely good-looking and t I could paint. Even no it is a mistake to t tion is ever really ses. Art is alract tell us of form and colour--t is all. It often seems to me t art conceals tist far more completely t ever reveals termined to make your portrait tion. It never occurred to me t you you be s not be angry I old you. As I said to o be wors;
Dorian Gray dreo ime. Yet e pity for ter range confession to ed by ty of a friend. Lord t oo cynical to be really fond of. ould trange idolatry? as t one of t life ore?
quot;It is extraordinary to me,