-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Оскар Уайльд
-
- Портрет Дориана Грея
-
- Стр. 78/164
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Ah
,
then
,
"
said
Lord
Henry
,
rising
to
go
--
"
then
,
my
dear
Dorian
,
you
would
have
to
fight
for
your
victories
.
As
it
is
,
they
are
brought
to
you
.
No
,
you
must
keep
your
good
looks
.
We
live
in
an
age
that
reads
too
much
to
be
wise
,
and
that
thinks
too
much
to
be
beautiful
.
We
can
not
spare
you
.
And
now
you
had
better
dress
,
and
drive
down
to
the
club
.
We
are
rather
late
,
as
it
is
.
"
"
I
think
I
shall
join
you
at
the
Opera
,
Harry
.
I
feel
too
tired
to
eat
anything
.
What
is
the
number
of
your
sister
's
box
?
"
"
Twenty-seven
,
I
believe
.
It
is
on
the
grand
tier
.
You
will
see
her
name
on
the
door
.
But
I
am
sorry
you
wo
n't
come
and
dine
.
"
"
I
do
n't
feel
up
to
it
,
"
said
Dorian
,
listlessly
.
"
But
I
am
awfully
obliged
to
you
for
all
that
you
have
said
to
me
.
You
are
certainly
my
best
friend
.
No
one
has
ever
understood
me
as
you
have
.
"
"
We
are
only
at
the
beginning
of
our
friendship
,
Dorian
,
"
answered
Lord
Henry
,
shaking
him
by
the
hand
.
"
Good-bye
.
I
shall
see
you
before
nine-thirty
,
I
hope
.
Remember
,
Patti
is
singing
.
"
As
he
closed
the
door
behind
him
,
Dorian
Gray
touched
the
bell
,
and
in
a
few
minutes
Victor
appeared
with
the
lamps
and
drew
the
blinds
down
.
He
waited
impatiently
for
him
to
go
.
The
man
seemed
to
take
an
interminable
time
over
everything
.
As
soon
as
he
had
left
,
he
rushed
to
the
screen
,
and
drew
it
back
.
No
;
there
was
no
further
change
in
the
picture
.
It
had
received
the
news
of
Sibyl
Vane
's
death
before
he
had
known
of
it
himself
.
It
was
conscious
of
the
events
of
life
as
they
occurred
.
The
vicious
cruelty
that
marred
the
fine
lines
of
the
mouth
had
,
no
doubt
,
appeared
at
the
very
moment
that
the
girl
had
drunk
the
poison
,
whatever
it
was
.
Or
was
it
indifferent
to
results
?
Did
it
merely
take
cognizance
of
what
passed
within
the
soul
?
He
wondered
,
and
hoped
that
some
day
he
would
see
the
change
taking
place
before
his
very
eyes
,
shuddering
as
he
hoped
it
.
Poor
Sibyl
!
what
a
romance
it
had
all
been
!
She
had
often
mimicked
death
on
the
stage
.
Then
Death
himself
had
touched
her
,
and
taken
her
with
him
.
How
had
she
played
that
dreadful
last
scene
?
Had
she
cursed
him
,
as
she
died
?
No
;
she
had
died
for
love
of
him
,
and
love
would
always
be
a
sacrament
to
him
now
.
She
had
atoned
for
everything
,
by
the
sacrifice
she
had
made
of
her
life
.
He
would
not
think
any
more
of
what
she
had
made
him
go
through
,
on
that
horrible
night
at
the
theatre
.
When
he
thought
of
her
,
it
would
be
as
a
wonderful
tragic
figure
sent
on
to
the
world
's
stage
to
show
the
supreme
reality
of
Love
.
A
wonderful
tragic
figure
?
Tears
came
to
his
eyes
as
he
remembered
her
childlike
look
,
and
winsome
fanciful
ways
,
and
shy
tremulous
grace
.
He
brushed
them
away
hastily
,
and
looked
again
at
the
picture
.
He
felt
that
the
time
had
really
come
for
making
his
choice
.
Or
had
his
choice
already
been
made
?
Yes
,
life
had
decided
that
for
him
--
life
,
and
his
own
infinite
curiosity
about
life
.
Eternal
youth
,
infinite
passion
,
pleasures
subtle
and
secret
,
wild
joys
and
wilder
sins
--
he
was
to
have
all
these
things
.
The
portrait
was
to
bear
the
burden
of
his
shame
:
that
was
all
.
