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PinkMonkey.com Digital Library-The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde


42

“The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I said it did not interest
me.” “You were quite right. There is always something infinitely
mean about other people’s tragedies.” “Sibyl is the only thing I care
about. What is it to me where she came from? From her little head
to her little feet, she is absolutely and entirely divine. Every night
of my life I go to see her act, and every night she is more
marvellous.” “That is the reason, I suppose, that you never dine
with me now. I thought you must have some curious romance on
hand. You have; but it is not quite what I expected.” “My dear
Harry, we either lunch or sup together every day, and I have been
to the Opera with you several times,” said Dorian, opening his blue
eyes in wonder.

“You always come dreadfully late.” “Well, I can’t help going to see
Sibyl play,” he cried, “even if it is only for a single act. I get hungry
for her presence; and when I think of the wonderful soul that is
hidden away in that little ivory body, I am filled with awe.” “You
can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can’t you?” He shook his head.
“To-night she is Imogen,” he answered, “and to-morrow night she
will be Juliet.”

“When is she Sibyl Vane?” “Never.” “I congratulate you.” “How
horrid you are! She is all the great heroines of the world in one. She
is more than an individual. You laugh, but I tell you she has
genius. I love her, and I must make her love me. You, who know
all the secrets of life, tell me how to charm Sibyl Vane to love me! I
want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world
to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion
to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain.
My God, Harry, how I worship her!” He was walking up and
down the room as he spoke. Hectic spots of red burned on his
cheeks. He was terribly excited.

Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure. How
different he was now from the shy, frightened boy he had met in
Basil Hallward’s studio! His nature had developed like a flower,
had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. Out of its secret hiding-place
had crept his Soul, and Desire had come to meet it on the way.
“And what do you propose to do?” said Lord Henry, at last.

“I want you and Basil to come with me some night and see her act.
I have not the slightest fear of the result. You are certain to
acknowledge her genius. Then we must get her out of the Jew’s
hands. She is bound to him for three years-at least for two years
and eight months-from the present time. I shall have to pay him
something, of course. When all that is settled, I shall take a West
End theatre and bring her out properly. She will make the world as
mad as she has made me.” “That would be impossible, my dear
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