Читать книгу Dorian Gray - John Garavaglia - Страница 16

A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had seen himself for the first time. He stood there, speechless by the sight of his portrait.

“Speak up, boy,” Lord Wotton said, snapping Dorian awake from his silent reverie. “You’ll hurt the man’s feelings.”

“Is that how I look?” Asked Dorian, not blinking even once at the painting. “It’s so lifelike.”

“Better than life,” Lord Wotton laughed, approaching the painting for a closer look. “You and Basil will be the talk of the town.”

“The brush seemed to dance, and I painted what I saw.” Commented Basil, cleaning his brush with a rag.

The two gentlemen were excited with the finished masterwork; yet, a chill suddenly ran through Dorian. One day he would be old and wrinkled, his slender form would be gone, and his hair would fall out.

“He’ll always look like that,” Lord Wotton said, pointing to the painting, “but you, Mr. Gray, I’m afraid will not.”

The words seem to hit Dorian like fists. Basil saw the saddened look on his inspiration’s face. He frowned by the very sight of it.

“Some things are more precious because they don’t last.” Basil said, trying to perk up Dorian, but it was to no avail.

“Oh, poppycock.” Lord Wotton scoffed.

“How awful it is,” Dorian mused. “I shall grow old and horrible and dreadful. But this painting will remain always young. If it were only the other way! If only I were to be

DORIAN GRAY

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