义水蓝 80万字 786415人读过 连载
"oh, i cant explain. when i like people immensely, i never tell their names to any one. it is like surrendering a part of them. i have grown to love secrecy. it seems to be the one thing that can make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us. the commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. when i leave town now i never tell my people where i am going. if i did, i would lose all my pleasure. it is a silly habit, i dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into ones life. i suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?"
"my dear basil, how do i know?" murmured dorian gray, sipping some pale-yellow wine from a delicate, gold-beaded bubble of venetian glass and looking dreadfully bored. "i was at the opera. you should have come on there. i met lady gwendolen, harrys sister, for the first time. we were in her box. she is perfectly charming; and patti sang divinely. dont talk about horrid subjects. if one doesnt talk about a thing, it has never happened. it is simply expression, as harry says, that gives reality to things. i may mention that she was not the womans only child. there is a son, a charming fellow, i believe. but he is not on the stage. he is a sailor, or something. and now, tell me about yourself and what you are painting."
he struggled madly for life, and by a terrible effort wrenched the tightening fingers away. in a second he heard the click of a revolver, and saw the gleam of a polished barrel, pointing straight at his head, and the dusky form of a short, thick-set man facing him.
how quickly it had all been done! he felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. the wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacocks tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. he looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. the crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. a woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. now and then she stopped and peered back. once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. the policeman strolled over and said something to her. she stumbled away, laughing. a bitter blast swept across the square. the gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. he shivered and went back, closing the window behind him.