TREMULOUS PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY UPDATE

I went to look after a piece of old brocade in Wardour Street and had to bargain for hours for it. “I am charmed, my love, quite charmed,” said Lord Henry, elevating his dark, crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them both with an amused smile.

No I think our ideas are quite different. We have had such a pleasant chat about music. But here is Harry! Harry, I came in to look for you, to ask you something- I forget what it was-and I found Mr.

They make one’s rooms look so picturesque. I can’t afford orchids, but I share no expense in foreigners. Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn’t it? You have never been to any of my parties, have you, Mr. They all are, ain’t they? Even those that are born in England become foreigners after a time, don’t they? It is so clever of them, and such a compliment to art. I have simply worshipped pianists- two at a time, sometimes, Harry tells me. But you must not think I don’t like good music. It is the only way I get to know of them. Gray? I always hear Harry’s views from his friends. “Ah! that is one of Harry’s views, isn’t it, Mr. If one hears bad music, it is one’s duty to drown it in conversation.” I never talk during music-at least, during good music. The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips, and her fingers began to play with a long tortoise-shell paper-knife.ĭorian smiled and shook his head: “I am afraid I don’t think so, Lady Henry. That is a great advantage, don’t you think so, Mr. It is so loud that one can talk the whole time without other people hearing what one says. I like Wagner’s music better than anybody’s. “That was at Lohengrin, Lady Henry, I think?” Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy. She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. And I saw you with him the other night at the opera.” She laughed nervously as she spoke, and watched him with her vague forget-me-not eyes. I think my husband has got seventeen of them.” I know you quite well by your photographs. He glanced quickly round and rose to his feet. Once or twice he thought of going away.Īt last he heard a step outside, and the door opened. The formal monotonous ticking of the Louis Quatorze clock annoyed him. So the lad was looking rather sulky, as with listless fingers he turned over the pages of an elaborately illustrated edition of Manon Lescaut that he had found in one of the book-cases. He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time. Some large blue china jars and parrot-tulips were ranged on the mantelshelf, and through the small leaded panes of the window streamed the apricot-coloured light of a summer day in London. On a tiny satinwood table stood a statuette by Clodion, and beside it lay a copy of Les Cent Nouvelles, bound for Margaret of Valois by Clovis Eve and powdered with the gilt daisies that Queen had selected for her device. It was, in its way, a very charming room, with its high panelled wainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-coloured frieze and ceiling of raised plasterwork, and its brickdust felt carpet strewn with silk, long-fringed Persian rugs. One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious arm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry’s house in Mayfair.

TREMULOUS PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY UPDATE

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Tremulous picture of dorian gray