Портрет Дориана Грея

           Shehadbeenshallowandunworthy. And,yet,afeelingofinfiniteregretcameoverhim,ashethoughtofherlyingathisfeetsobbinglikealittlechild. Herememberedwithwhatcallousnesshehadwatchedher. Whyhadhebeenmadelikethat? Whyhadsuchasoulbeengiventohim? Buthehadsufferedalso. Duringthethreeterriblehoursthattheplayhadlasted,hehadlivedcenturiesofpain,æonuponæonoftorture. Hislifewaswellworthhers. Shehadmarredhimforamoment,ifhehadwoundedherforanage. Besides,womenwerebettersuitedtobearsorrowthanmen. Theylivedontheiremotions. Theyonlythoughtoftheiremotions. Whentheytooklovers,itwasmerelytohavesomeonewithwhomtheycouldhavescenes. LordHenryhadtoldhimthat,andLordHenryknewwhatwomenwere. WhyshouldhetroubleaboutSibylVane? Shewasnothingtohimnow. 

           Butthepicture? Whatwashetosayofthat? Itheldthesecretofhislife,andtoldhisstory. Ithadtaughthimtolovehisownbeauty. Woulditteachhimtoloathehisownsoul? Wouldheeverlookatitagain? 

           No;itwasmerelyanillusionwroughtonthetroubledsenses. Thehorriblenightthathehadpassedhadleftphantomsbehindit. Suddenlytherehadfallenuponhisbrainthattinyscarletspeckthatmakesmenmad. Thepicturehadnotchanged. Itwasfollytothinkso. 

           Yetitwaswatchinghim,withitsbeautifulmarredfaceanditscruelsmile. Itsbrighthairgleamedintheearlysunlight. Itsblueeyesmethisown. Asenseofinfinitepity,notforhimself,butforthepaintedimageofhimself,cameoverhim. Ithadalteredalready,andwouldaltermore. Itsgoldwouldwitherintogrey. Itsredandwhiteroseswoulddie. Foreverysinthathecommitted,astainwouldfleckandwreckitsfairness. Buthewouldnotsin.