多里安 · 格雷的画像 12

For weeks he tried not to go near it, but he could not stay away from it for long. Sometimes, when he was staying in friends' houses, he suddenly left and hurried back to London. He wanted to be sure that the room was still locked and the picture was still safe. At one time he used to spend winters with Lord Henry in a little house in Algiers, but now he no longer travelled outside England.
 
His fear grew stronger every year, and as time passed, the face in the picture grew slowly more terrible.
 
The Hand of a Killer
'Uncover that picture, and you will see my soul.'
 
It was the ninth of November, the evening before his thirty-eighth birthday. Dorian Gray was walking home from Lord Henry's house when he saw Basil Hallward. He felt strangely afraid and tried to pretend that he had not seen him, but Basil hurried after him.
 
'Dorian!' he called. 'What extraordinary luck! I'm catching the midnight train to Paris and I wanted to see you before I left. I'll be away from England for six months.' He put his hand on Dorian's arm. 'Look, we're near your house. May I come in for a moment? I have something to say to you.'
 
'Of course. But won't you miss your train?' asked Dorian lazily, as he walked up the steps to his door.
 
'I have plenty of time. It's only eleven o'clock.'
 
They went in and sat down by the fire.
 
'Now, my dear Dorian, I want to speak to you seriously,' Basil began. 'I must tell you that people in London are saying the most terrible things about you.'
 
Dorian lit a cigarette and looked bored. 'I don't want to know anything about it. It doesn't interest me.'
 
'But it must interest you, Dorian,' said Basil. 'Every gentleman is interested in his good name. Of course, when look at you, I know that these stories can't be true. A man's face shows if his life is good or bad. But why does Lord Berwick leave the room when you enter it? Why does Lord Staveley say that no honest woman is safe with you? That young soldier, who was your friend—why did he kill himself? There was Sir Henry Ashton, who had to leave England with a bad name. And what about Lord Kent's son? What kind of life does he have now?'
 
'Stop, Basil. You don't know what you're talking about,' said Dorian coldly. 'Did I teach these people how to live their lives? And the people who tell these stories—are their lives any better than mine?'
 
'And there are other stories too,' continued Basil. 'Are they true? Can your life really be so bad, so evil? You were a fine young man once, but now, when I hear these stories, I wonder... Do I know you at all? What has happened to the real Dorian Gray? I think I would have to see your soul before I could answer those questions.'
 
'The real Dorian Gray?' asked Dorian quietly, his face white with fear.
 
'Yes,' said the artist sadly. 'But only God can see your soul.'
 
A terrible laugh came from the younger man. 'Come, Basil,' he cried. 'Come with me! I will show you what only God can see. Why not? It's your own work. You've talked enough about evil. Now you must look at it.'