庚峻熙 289万字 147122人读过 连载
dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture and turned towards it. when he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure. a look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had recognized himself for the first time. he stood there motionless and in wonder, dimly conscious that hallward was speaking to him, but not catching the meaning of his words. the sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation. he had never felt it before. basil hallwards compliments had seemed to him to be merely the charming exaggeration of friendship. he had listened to them, laughed at them, forgotten them. they had not influenced his nature. then had come lord henry wotton with his strange panegyric on youth, his terrible warning of its brevity. that had stirred him at the time, and now, as he stood gazing at the shadow of his own loveliness, the full reality of the description flashed across him. yes, there would be a day when his face would be wrinkled and wizen, his eyes dim and colourless, the grace of his figure broken and deformed. the scarlet would pass away from his lips and the gold steal from his hair. the life that was to make his soul would mar his body. he would become dreadful, hideous, and uncouth.
after some time they left the clay road and rattled again over rough-paven streets. most of the windows were dark, but now and then fantastic shadows were silhouetted against some lamplit blind. he watched them curiously. they moved like monstrous marionettes and made gestures like live things. he hated them. a dull rage was in his heart. as they turned a corner, a woman yelled something at them from an open door, and two men ran after the hansom for about a hundred yards. the driver beat at them with his whip.