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- Оскар Уайльд
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- Портрет Дориана Грея
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- Стр. 118/164
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There
he
stopped
,
feeling
afraid
to
turn
round
,
and
his
eyes
fixed
themselves
on
the
intricacies
of
the
pattern
before
him
.
He
heard
Campbell
bringing
in
the
heavy
chest
,
and
the
irons
,
and
the
other
things
that
he
had
required
for
his
dreadful
work
.
He
began
to
wonder
if
he
and
Basil
Hallward
had
ever
met
,
and
,
if
so
,
what
they
had
thought
of
each
other
.
"
Leave
me
now
,
"
said
a
stern
voice
behind
him
.
He
turned
and
hurried
out
,
just
conscious
that
the
dead
man
had
been
thrust
back
into
the
chair
,
and
that
Campbell
was
gazing
into
a
glistening
yellow
face
.
As
he
was
going
downstairs
he
heard
the
key
being
turned
in
the
lock
.
It
was
long
after
seven
when
Campbell
came
back
into
the
library
.
He
was
pale
,
but
absolutely
calm
.
"
I
have
done
what
you
asked
me
to
do
,
"
he
muttered
.
"
And
now
,
good-bye
.
Let
us
never
see
each
other
again
.
"
"
You
have
saved
me
from
ruin
,
Alan
.
I
can
not
forget
that
,
"
said
Dorian
,
simply
.
As
soon
as
Campbell
had
left
,
he
went
upstairs
.
There
was
a
horrible
smell
of
nitric
acid
in
the
room
.
But
the
thing
that
had
been
sitting
at
the
table
was
gone
.
That
evening
,
at
eight-thirty
,
exquisitely
dressed
and
wearing
a
large
buttonhole
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
and
graceful
as
ever
.
Perhaps
one
never
seems
so
much
at
one
's
ease
as
when
one
has
to
play
a
part
.
Certainly
no
one
looking
at
Dorian
Gray
that
night
could
have
believed
that
he
had
passed
through
a
tragedy
as
horrible
as
any
tragedy
of
our
age
.
Those
finely-shaped
fingers
could
never
have
clutched
a
knife
for
sin
,
nor
those
smiling
lips
have
cried
out
on
God
and
goodness
.
He
himself
could
not
help
wondering
at
the
calm
of
his
demeanour
,
and
for
a
moment
felt
keenly
the
terrible
pleasure
of
a
double
life
.
It
was
a
small
party
,
got
up
rather
in
a
hurry
by
Lady
Narborough
,
who
was
a
very
clever
woman
,
with
what
Lord
Henry
used
to
describe
as
the
remains
of
really
remarkable
ugliness
.
She
had
proved
an
excellent
wife
to
one
of
our
most
tedious
ambassadors
,
and
having
buried
her
husband
properly
in
a
marble
mausoleum
,
which
she
had
herself
designed
,
and
married
off
her
daughters
to
some
rich
,
rather
elderly
men
,
she
devoted
herself
now
to
the
pleasures
of
French
fiction
,
French
cookery
,
and
French
esprit
when
she
could
get
it
.
Dorian
was
one
of
her
special
favourites
,
and
she
always
told
him
that
she
was
extremely
glad
she
had
not
met
him
in
early
life
.
"
I
know
,
my
dear
,
I
should
have
fallen
madly
in
love
with
you
,
"
she
used
to
say
,
"
and
thrown
my
bonnet
right
over
the
mills
for
your
sake
.
It
is
most
fortunate
that
you
were
not
thought
of
at
the
time
.
