慕容倩影 306万字 526936人读过 连载
"oh, anywhere. here: this will do. i dont want to have it hung up. just lean it against the wall. thanks."
"mr. dorian grays, sir," answered the policeman.
"he has certainly not been paying me compliments. perhaps that is the reason that i dont believe anything he has told me."
"dont mind him, my dear," whispered lady agatha. "he never means anything that he says."
"they are pork-packers, i suppose?"
this is a fault.
dorian gray threw his hat and coat upon the table and passed into the library. for a quarter of an hour he walked up and down the room, biting his lip and thinking. then he took down the blue book from one of the shelves and began to turn over the leaves. "alan campbell, 152, hertford street, mayfair." yes; that was the man he wanted.
"i could not get rid of her. she brought me up to royalties, and people with stars and garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses. she spoke of me as her dearest friend. i had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. i believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. suddenly i found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. we were quite close, almost touching. our eyes met again. it was reckless of me, but i asked lady brandon to introduce me to him. perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. it was simply inevitable. we would have spoken to each other without any introduction. i am sure of that. dorian told me so afterwards. he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other."