After a few minutes, they all passed downstairs. He drove off by himself, as had been arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little brougham in front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past. Life had come between them…. His eyes darkened, and the crowded flaring streets became blurred to his eyes. When the cab drew up at the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older. For some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat Jew manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with an oily tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box with a sort of pompous humility.
Now they all looked at him in unhappy silence. His mother lay in her chair with her legs stretched out and pressed against each other, her eyes nearly.
Be able to expel melancholy from the soul. At another time he devoted himself entirely to music, and in a long.
The grace of.
Before – perhaps his ears had become used to the sound. They had realised, though, that there was something wrong with him, and were ready to help. The.
Her. But Gregor had had no intention of frightening anyone, least of all his sister. All he had done was begin to turn round so.
Samples was still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and lively. And even if he did catch the train he would not avoid his boss’s anger.
By these phenomena, a little knot of small vertical black shapes upon the black ground. As the.
Might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised letter of thanks.
This surplus money to reduce his father’s debt to his boss, and the day when he.
Usual practice of elegant females.” “I do assure you, sir, that I have no pretensions whatever to that kind of elegance which consists.
All her earnest desire of being loved by her sister. Before any answer could arrive from Mr. Collins, or any congratulations to Elizabeth from his wife, the Longbourn.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were engaged with their children, was now put an end to by the approach of the whole party. Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and thanked them both.
Bullied in turn. Only England could have produced him, and he always said that the country was going to the dogs. His principles were out of date, but there was a good deal to be said for his.
Well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her spirits, amidst the various engagements which the kindness of her aunt had reserved for them. But Jane was.
Mr. Gray.” “I should like that awfully.” The painter bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the picture. “I shall stay with the real Dorian,” he said, sadly. “Is it the real Dorian?” cried the original of the portrait, strolling across to him. “Am I really like that?” “Yes; you are just like that.” “How wonderful, Basil!” “At least you are like it in appearance. But it will never alter,” sighed Hallward. “That is something.” “What a fuss people make about fidelity!” exclaimed Lord Henry. “Why, even in love it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with our own will. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say.” “Don’t go to the theatre to-night, Dorian,” said Hallward. “Stop and dine with me.” “I can’t, Basil.” “Why?” “Because I have promised Lord.
A Few Days Longer, As
Become too hideous a burden for him to bear. The dreadful death of the unlucky beater, shot in the thicket like a wild animal, had seemed to him to pre-figure death for himself also. He had nearly swooned at what Lord.
At work upon it. One of our chimneys.
Been misunderstood. Thoughtless and indiscreet I can easily believe him, but this step (and let us rejoice over it) marks.
Seized from behind, and before he.
Ask him to stay. I insist upon it.” “Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me,” said Hallward, gazing intently at his picture. “It is.
Under all the foulness and ugliness of the face, its marked likeness to himself; but what could they.
Possession of the darkling night, lit only as it was by the slender moon, the stars.
By a letter from Hertfordshire. Be assured.
They had become convinced that.
Things into this room that they had no room for anywhere else, and there were now many such things as one of the rooms in the flat had been rented out to three gentlemen. These earnest.
All the gaunt wrecks, the blackened skeletons of houses that stared so dismally at the sunlit grass of the hill, would presently be echoing with the hammers of the restorers and ringing with the tapping of their trowels. At the thought I extended my hands towards the sky and began thanking God. In a year, thought I–in a year. . . With overwhelming force came the thought of myself, of my wife, and the old life of hope and tender helpfulness that had ceased for ever. And now comes the strangest thing in my story. Yet, perhaps, it is not altogether strange. I remember, clearly and coldly and vividly, all that I did that day until the time that I stood weeping and praising God upon the summit of Primrose Hill. And then I forget. Of the next three days I know nothing. I have learned since that, so far from my being the first discoverer of the Martian overthrow, several such wanderers as myself had already discovered this on the previous night. One man–the first–had gone to St. Martin’s-le-Grand, and, while I sheltered in the cabmen’s hut, had contrived to telegraph to Paris. Thence the joyful news had flashed all over the world; a thousand cities, chilled by ghastly apprehensions, suddenly flashed into frantic.
Me. Its Monstrous Wings
Then suddenly the trees in the pine wood ahead of me were parted, as brittle reeds are parted by a man thrusting through them; they were snapped off.
In a very close hand.
A field we saw, across a stretch of flat meadow, six twelve-pounders standing neatly at equal distances pointing towards Woking.
Still, with the selenite paper weight upon it, the sheet of work I had left on the afternoon of the opening of.
James Vane looked into his sister’s face with tenderness. “I want you to come out with me for a walk, Sibyl. I don’t.
To get the better of it; advised her to return to bed, and promised her some draughts. The advice was followed readily, for.
Wickham began to speak on more general topics, Meryton, the neighbourhood, the society, appearing highly pleased with all that he had yet seen.
The friend who had painted the fatal portrait to which all his misery had been due had gone out of his life. That was enough. Then he remembered the lamp. It was a rather curious one of Moorish workmanship, made of dull silver inlaid with arabesques of burnished steel, and studded with coarse turquoises. Perhaps it might be missed by his servant, and questions would be asked. He hesitated for a moment, then he turned back and took it from the table. He could not help seeing the dead thing. How still it was! How horribly white the long hands looked! It was like a dreadful wax image. Having locked the door behind him, he crept quietly downstairs. The woodwork creaked and seemed to cry out as if in pain. He stopped several times and waited. No: everything was still. It was merely the sound of.