Chapter 4

You'd try to get into the lock,drawn today, didn't you?

How do the dead come back, mother?

What's the secret?

Chapter 4

One afternoon, a month later,

Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious armchair

in the little library of Lord Henry's house in Mayfair.

It was, in its way, a very charming room, with its high-panelled wainskitting

of olive-stained oak, its cream-coloured frieze and a ceiling of raised plasterwork,

and its brick-dust felt carpet strewn with silk-long, fringed Persian rugs. On a tiny satin-wood table stood a statuette by Claudion, and beside it lay a copy of

Les Saint-Nouvelle, bound for Margaret of Valois by Clovis Eve, and powdered with the gilt daisies

that Queen had selected for her device. Some large blue china jars and parrot tulips arranged on the mantelshelf,

and through the small leaded panes of the windows streamed the apricot-coloured light of a summer

day in London. Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief

of time. So the lad was looking rather sulky, as with listless fingers he turned over the pages

of an elaborately illustrated edition of Mano Leskoe that he had found in one of the bookcases.

The formal monotonous ticking of the Louis Cato's clock

annoyed him. Once or twice, he thought of going away. At last he heard a step outside, and the door

opened. How late you are, Harry, he murmured. I'm afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray, answered the shrill

voice. He glanced quickly round and

rose to his feet. I beg your pardon, I thought, you thought it was my husband. It is only his wife.

...