Читать книгу Dorian Gray - John Garavaglia - Страница 15

Dorian listened intently, wide-eyed and silent. Basil also heard these dangerous words and worried about the impression they would make on his inexperienced young friend. But he was too busy putting the finishing touches on Dorian’s painting to win him over or to stop Wotton.

For nearly ten minutes Dorian stood on the dais, motionless, with parted lips and eyes strangely bright. He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh influences were at work within him.

Basil painted away with that marvelous bold touch of his, that had the true refinement and perfect delicacy that in art, at any rate comes only from strength.

He stood staring at the picture for a long time, biting the end of one of his huge brushes and frowning.

“It’s finished,” he said proudly at last.

Then stooping down, he wrote his name in long red letters on the lower left corner of the canvas.

“Is it really finished?” Dorian murmured, stepping down from the platform.

Lord Wotton came over and examined the picture. It was certainly a wonderful work of art, and a wonderful likeness as well.

“I congratulate you, Basil,” Wotton said to him. “This is the finest portrait of any man that has been created in modern times. Dorian, come look at yourself.”

Dorian looked at the painting and blushed. The sense of his own beauty hit him like a lightning bolt. When he saw it, he drew back and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure.

JOHN GRAVAGLIA

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