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- Оскар Уайльд
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- Портрет Дориана Грея
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- Стр. 126/164
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Lord
Henry
shrugged
his
shoulders
.
"
My
dear
fellow
,
as
if
I
cared
!
Let
us
go
up
to
the
drawing-room
.
No
sherry
,
thank
you
,
Mr.
Chapman
.
Something
has
happened
to
you
,
Dorian
.
Tell
me
what
it
is
.
You
are
not
yourself
to-night
.
"
"
Do
n't
mind
me
,
Harry
.
I
am
irritable
,
and
out
of
temper
.
I
shall
come
round
and
see
you
to-morrow
or
next
day
.
Make
my
excuses
to
Lady
Narborough
.
I
sha
n't
go
upstairs
.
I
shall
go
home
.
I
must
go
home
.
"
"
All
right
,
Dorian
.
I
daresay
I
shall
see
you
to-morrow
at
tea-time
.
The
Duchess
is
coming
.
"
"
I
will
try
to
be
there
,
Harry
,
"
he
said
,
leaving
the
room
.
As
he
drove
back
to
his
own
house
he
was
conscious
that
the
sense
of
terror
he
thought
he
had
strangled
had
come
back
to
him
.
Lord
Henry
's
casual
questioning
had
made
him
lose
his
nerves
for
the
moment
,
and
he
wanted
his
nerve
still
.
Things
that
were
dangerous
had
to
be
destroyed
.
He
winced
.
He
hated
the
idea
of
even
touching
them
.
Yet
it
had
to
be
done
.
He
realised
that
,
and
when
he
had
locked
the
door
of
his
library
,
he
opened
the
secret
press
into
which
he
had
thrust
Basil
Hallward
's
coat
and
bag
.
A
huge
fire
was
blazing
.
He
piled
another
log
on
it
.
The
smell
of
the
singeing
clothes
and
burning
leather
was
horrible
.
It
took
him
three-quarters
of
an
hour
to
consume
everything
.
At
the
end
he
felt
faint
and
sick
,
and
having
lit
some
Algerian
pastilles
in
a
pierced
copper
brazier
,
he
bathed
his
hands
and
forehead
with
a
cool
musk-scented
vinegar
.
Suddenly
he
started
.
His
eyes
grew
strangely
bright
,
and
he
gnawed
nervously
at
his
under-lip
.
Between
two
of
the
windows
stood
a
large
Florentine
cabinet
,
made
out
of
ebony
,
and
inlaid
with
ivory
and
blue
lapis
.
He
watched
it
as
though
it
were
a
thing
that
could
fascinate
and
make
afraid
,
as
though
it
held
something
that
he
longed
for
and
yet
almost
loathed
.
His
breath
quickened
.
A
mad
craving
came
over
him
.
He
lit
a
cigarette
and
then
threw
it
away
.
His
eyelids
drooped
till
the
long
fringed
lashes
almost
touched
his
cheek
.
But
he
still
watched
the
cabinet
.
At
last
he
got
up
from
the
sofa
on
which
he
had
been
lying
,
went
over
to
it
,
and
,
having
unlocked
it
,
touched
some
hidden
spring
.
A
triangular
drawer
passed
slowly
out
.
His
fingers
moved
instinctively
towards
it
,
dipped
in
,
and
closed
on
something
.
It
was
a
small
Chinese
box
of
black
and
gold-dust
lacquer
,
elaborately
wrought
,
the
sides
patterned
with
curved
waves
,
and
the
silken
cords
hung
with
round
crystals
and
tasselled
in
plaited
metal
threads
.
He
opened
it
.
Inside
was
a
green
paste
,
waxy
in
lustre
,
the
odour
curiously
heavy
and
persistent
.
He
hesitated
for
some
moments
,
with
a
strangely
immobile
smile
upon
his
face
.
Then
shivering
,
though
the
atmosphere
of
the
room
was
terribly
hot
,
he
drew
himself
up
,
and
glanced
at
the
clock
.
It
was
twenty
minutes
to
twelve
.
He
put
the
box
back
,
shutting
the
cabinet
doors
as
he
did
so
,
and
went
into
his
bedroom
.
As
midnight
was
striking
bronze
blows
upon
the
dusky
air
,
Dorian
Gray
dressed
commonly
,
and
with
a
muffler
wrapped
round
his
throat
,
crept
quietly
out
of
the
house
.
In
Bond
Street
he
found
a
hansom
with
a
good
horse
.
He
hailed
it
,
and
in
a
low
voice
gave
the
driver
an
address
.
The
man
shook
his
head
.
"
It
is
too
far
for
me
,
"
he
muttered
.
