-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Оскар Уайльд
-
- Портрет Дориана Грея
-
- Стр. 81/164
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
The
elder
man
buried
his
face
in
his
hands
.
"
How
fearful
,
"
he
muttered
,
and
a
shudder
ran
through
him
.
"
No
,
"
said
Dorian
Gray
,
"
there
is
nothing
fearful
about
it
.
It
is
one
of
the
great
romantic
tragedies
of
the
age
.
As
a
rule
,
people
who
act
lead
the
most
commonplace
lives
.
They
are
good
husbands
,
or
faithful
wives
,
or
something
tedious
.
You
know
what
I
mean
--
middle-class
virtue
,
and
all
that
kind
of
thing
.
How
different
Sibyl
was
!
She
lived
her
finest
tragedy
.
She
was
always
a
heroine
.
The
last
night
she
played
--
the
night
you
saw
her
--
she
acted
badly
because
she
had
known
the
reality
of
love
.
When
she
knew
its
unreality
,
she
died
,
as
Juliet
might
have
died
.
She
passed
again
into
the
sphere
of
art
.
There
is
something
of
the
martyr
about
her
.
Her
death
has
all
the
pathetic
uselessness
of
martyrdom
,
all
its
wasted
beauty
.
But
,
as
I
was
saying
,
you
must
not
think
I
have
not
suffered
.
If
you
had
come
in
yesterday
at
a
particular
moment
--
about
half-past
five
,
perhaps
,
or
a
quarter
to
six
--
you
would
have
found
me
in
tears
.
Even
Harry
,
who
was
here
,
who
brought
me
the
news
,
in
fact
,
had
no
idea
what
I
was
going
through
.
I
suffered
immensely
.
Then
it
passed
away
.
I
can
not
repeat
an
emotion
.
No
one
can
,
except
sentimentalists
.
And
you
are
awfully
unjust
,
Basil
.
You
come
down
here
to
console
me
.
That
is
charming
of
you
.
You
find
me
consoled
,
and
you
are
furious
.
How
like
a
sympathetic
person
!
You
remind
me
of
a
story
Harry
told
me
about
a
certain
philanthropist
who
spent
twenty
years
of
his
life
in
trying
to
get
some
grievance
redressed
,
or
some
unjust
law
altered
--
I
forget
exactly
what
it
was
.
Finally
he
succeeded
,
and
nothing
could
exceed
his
disappointment
.
He
had
absolutely
nothing
to
do
,
almost
died
of
ennui
,
and
became
a
confirmed
misanthrope
.
And
besides
,
my
dear
old
Basil
,
if
you
really
want
to
console
me
,
teach
me
rather
to
forget
what
has
happened
,
or
to
see
it
from
the
proper
artistic
point
of
view
.
Was
it
not
Gautier
who
used
to
write
about
la
consolation
des
arts
?
I
remember
picking
up
a
little
vellum-covered
book
in
your
studio
one
day
and
chancing
on
that
delightful
phrase
.
Well
,
I
am
not
like
that
young
man
you
told
me
of
when
we
were
down
at
Marlow
together
,
the
young
man
who
used
to
say
that
yellow
satin
could
console
one
for
all
the
miseries
of
life
.
I
love
beautiful
things
that
one
can
touch
and
handle
.
Old
brocades
,
green
bronzes
,
lacquer-work
,
carved
ivories
,
exquisite
surroundings
,
luxury
,
pomp
,
there
is
much
to
be
got
from
all
these
.
But
the
artistic
temperament
that
they
create
,
or
at
any
rate
reveal
,
is
still
more
to
me
.
To
become
the
spectator
of
one
's
own
life
,
as
Harry
says
,
is
to
escape
the
suffering
of
life
.
I
know
you
are
surprised
at
my
talking
to
you
like
this
.
You
have
not
realised
how
I
have
developed
.
I
was
a
schoolboy
when
you
knew
me
.
I
am
a
man
now
.
I
have
new
passions
,
new
thoughts
,
new
ideas
.
I
am
different
,
but
you
must
not
like
me
less
.
I
am
changed
,
but
you
must
always
be
my
friend
.
Of
course
I
am
very
fond
of
Harry
.
But
I
know
that
you
are
better
than
he
is
.
You
are
not
stronger
--
you
are
too
much
afraid
of
life
--
but
you
are
better
.
And
how
happy
we
used
to
be
together
!
Do
n't
leave
me
,
Basil
,
and
do
n't
quarrel
with
me
.
I
am
what
I
am
.
There
is
nothing
more
to
be
said
.
"
The
painter
felt
strangely
moved
.
The
lad
was
infinitely
dear
to
him
,
and
his
personality
had
been
the
great
turning-point
in
his
art
.
He
could
not
bear
the
idea
of
reproaching
him
any
more
.
After
all
,
his
indifference
was
probably
merely
a
mood
that
would
pass
away
.
There
was
so
much
in
him
that
was
good
,
so
much
in
him
that
was
noble
.
"
Well
,
Dorian
,
"
he
said
,
at
length
,
with
a
sad
smile
,
"
I
wo
n't
speak
to
you
again
about
this
horrible
thing
,
after
to-day
.
I
only
trust
your
name
wo
n't
be
mentioned
in
connection
with
it
.
The
inquest
is
to
take
place
this
afternoon
.
Have
they
summoned
you
?
"
Dorian
shook
his
head
and
a
look
of
annoyance
passed
over
his
face
at
the
mention
of
the
word
"
inquest
.
"
There
was
something
so
crude
and
vulgar
about
everything
of
the
kind
.
"
They
do
n't
know
my
name
,
"
he
answered
.
"
But
surely
she
did
?
"
"
Only
my
Christian
name
,
and
that
I
am
quite
sure
she
never
mentioned
to
anyone
.
She
told
me
once
that
they
were
all
rather
curious
to
learn
who
I
was
,
and
that
she
invariably
told
them
my
name
was
Prince
Charming
.
It
was
pretty
of
her
.
You
must
do
me
a
drawing
of
Sibyl
,
Basil
.
I
should
like
to
have
something
more
of
her
than
the
memory
of
a
few
kisses
and
some
broken
pathetic
words
.
"
