Читать книгу Dorian Gray - John Garavaglia - Страница 18

Dorian barely heard Basil’s charge against Lord Wotton. He watched as the artist reached for a knife to rip the painting to shreds.

With a stifled sob Dorian leaped from the couch, and rushed over to Basil, tore the knife out of his hand and flung it to the end of the studio.

“Don’t Basil!” Cried Dorian. “It would be murder!”

“I am glad you finally appreciate my work.” Basil said coldly.

“Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. It is a part of myself. I feel that.” Dorian explained. “I didn’t mean I wished you hadn’t painted it.”

“Well, as soon as it dries, it will be framed and sent to you.” Basil said more gently.

Finally, Dorian calmed down. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the portrait.

“I wish the picture would age for me.” Dorian said with desperation in his voice.

“Remain as you are?” Lord Wotton said, arching an eyebrow and then smiling. “A fair trade.”

“How about another gin?” Offered Basil, sauntering over to the bar, preparing a glass.

“All that hocus-pocus, endless conjurations, books bound in infant skin, pentacles of fire, and drinking blood of virgins.” Lord Wotton prattled on, watching Basil refilling his glass. “Dorian wouldn’t really barter his soul. Would you, Dorian?”

Dorian turned away from the painting. He stood there silent before Lord Wotton who was expecting on what the lad would

DORIAN GRAY

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