Портрет Дориана Грея

           "Thesamefleshandbloodasone’sself! Oh,Ihopenot!"exclaimedLordHenry,whowasscanningtheoccupantsofthegallerythroughhisopera-glass. 

           "Don’tpayanyattentiontohim,Dorian,"saidthepainter. "Iunderstandwhatyoumean,andIbelieveinthisgirl. Anyoneyoulovemustbemarvellous,andanygirlthathastheeffectyoudescribemustbefineandnoble. Tospiritualiseone’sage—thatissomethingworthdoing. Ifthisgirlcangiveasoultothosewhohavelivedwithoutone,ifshecancreatethesenseofbeautyinpeoplewhoseliveshavebeensordidandugly, ifshecanstripthemoftheirselfishnessandlendthemtearsforsorrowsthatarenottheirown, sheisworthyofallyouradoration,worthyoftheadorationoftheworld. Thismarriageisquiteright. Ididnotthinksoatfirst,butIadmititnow.ThegodsmadeSibylVaneforyou. Withoutheryouwouldhavebeenincomplete." 

           "Thanks,Basil,"answeredDorianGray,pressinghishand. "Iknewthatyouwouldunderstandme. Harryissocynical,heterrifiesme.Buthereistheorchestra. Itisquitedreadful,butitonlylastsforaboutfiveminutes. Thenthecurtainrises,andyouwillseethegirltowhomIamgoingtogiveallmylife, towhomIhavegiveneverythingthatisgoodinme." 

           Aquarterofanhourafterwards,amidstanextraordinaryturmoilofapplause,SibylVanesteppedontothestage. Yes,shewascertainlylovelytolookat—oneoftheloveliestcreatures,LordHenrythought,thathehadeverseen. Therewassomethingofthefawninhershygraceandstartledeyes. Afaintblush,liketheshadowofaroseinamirrorofsilver,cametohercheeksassheglancedatthecrowded,enthusiastichouse.