rge, grey-plumaged bird and tail, t self upon a bamboo perced fingers touc, it dropped te scurf of crinkled lids over black, glasslike eyes and began to sway backwards and forwards.
quot;Yes,quot; inued, turning round and taking of ; quot;ing e gone off. It seemed to me to somet an ideal. o be great friends, o be a great artist. separated you? I suppose s a bores rait t since . Oelling me years ago t you it doo Selby, and t it mislaid or stolen on t it back? a pity! it erpiece. I remember I ed to buy it. I o Basils best period. Since t curious mixture of bad painting and good intentions t alitles a man to be called a representative Britisist. Did you advertise for it? You s;
quot;I forget,quot; said Dorian. quot;I suppose I did. But I never really liked it. I am sorry I sat for it. teful to me. alk of it? It used to remind me of t, I they run?--
Like ting of a sorrow,
A face a .
Yes: t is ;
Lord ;If a man treats life artistically, ,quot; o an arm-chair.
Dorian Gray sruck some soft c;Like ting of a sorro; ed, quot;a face a .quot;
t ;By t; er a pause, quot; profit a man if ation run?-- ;
tarted and stared at ;, ;
quot;My dear fello; said Lord ing ;I asked you because I t you migo give me an ans is all. I Sunday, and close by tood a little croo some vulgar street-preac t question to struck me as being ratic. London is very rics of t kind. A Sunday, an uncoutian in a mackintose faces under a broken roof of dripping umbrellas, and a erical lips--it s e a suggestion. I t of telling t t art t man . I am afraid, ood me.quot;
quot;Dont, errible reality. It can be bougered a can be poisoned, or made perfect. t.quot;
quot;Do you feel quite sure of t, Dorian?quot;
quot;Quite sure.quot;
quot;A must be an illusion. tely certain about are never true. t is tality of fait be so serious. o do itions of our age? No: ell me, in a lo . I am only ten years older to-nig.