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- Оскар Уайльд
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- Портрет Дориана Грея
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Too
like
the
lightning
,
which
doth
cease
to
be
Ere
one
can
say
,
"
It
lightens
.
"
Sweet
,
good-night
!
This
bud
of
love
by
summer
's
ripening
breath
May
prove
a
beauteous
flower
when
next
we
meet
--
she
spoke
the
words
as
though
they
conveyed
no
meaning
to
her
.
It
was
not
nervousness
.
Indeed
,
so
far
from
being
nervous
,
she
was
absolutely
self-contained
.
It
was
simply
bad
art
.
She
was
a
complete
failure
.
Even
the
common
,
uneducated
audience
of
the
pit
and
gallery
lost
their
interest
in
the
play
.
They
got
restless
,
and
began
to
talk
loudly
and
to
whistle
.
The
Jew
manager
,
who
was
standing
at
the
back
of
the
dress-circle
,
stamped
and
swore
with
rage
.
The
only
person
unmoved
was
the
girl
herself
.
When
the
second
act
was
over
there
came
a
storm
of
hisses
,
and
Lord
Henry
got
up
from
his
chair
and
put
on
his
coat
.
"
She
is
quite
beautiful
,
Dorian
,
"
he
said
,
"
but
she
ca
n't
act
.
Let
us
go
.
"
"
I
am
going
to
see
the
play
through
,
"
answered
the
lad
,
in
a
hard
,
bitter
voice
.
"
I
am
awfully
sorry
that
I
have
made
you
waste
an
evening
,
Harry
.
I
apologise
to
you
both
.
"
"
My
dear
Dorian
,
I
should
think
Miss
Vane
was
ill
,
"
interrupted
Hallward
.
"
We
will
come
some
other
night
.
"
"
I
wish
she
were
ill
,
"
he
rejoined
.
"
But
she
seems
to
me
to
be
simply
callous
and
cold
.
She
has
entirely
altered
.
Last
night
she
was
a
great
artist
.
This
evening
she
is
merely
a
commonplace
,
mediocre
actress
.
"
