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CHAPTER THREE

Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.

Lao Tzu.

Dorian sat on the floor in the middle of the room, his knees drawn up to just under his chin. The room itself wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t feel especially warm. In Dorian’s room—his real room—all the furniture kind of looked like it went together. Here it seemed as if some random stuff had been stuck together in one place.

George had brought in the last of his suitcases some time ago. Dorian hadn’t spoken to him. The truth was, he was embarrassed about his outburst and was quite certain that George was angry with him. So he had felt it wisest not to say anything and hope that, eventually, George would forget that he had shouted in such an inappropriate manner.

That’s what his mother would have said. “In-ap-pro-pri-ate, young man,” she would scold him, waggling her index finger in one quick downward stroke on every syllable.

George didn’t try to strike up a conversation with him; he didn’t seem to know what to say. So George would come and go from the room, grunting slightly and wondering out loud why

DORIAN GRAY

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