disappeared. I don't know why, because there are plenty of
other things that they can talk about — my wife has run away
with another man, Alan Campbell has killed himself . . .'
'What do you think has happened to Basil?' asked Dorian
slowly.
'I've no idea,' answered Lord Henry. 'The English police
report that Basil went to Paris on the midnight train on the
ninth of November, but the French police say that he never
arrived in Paris at all. If Basil wants to hide himself, I really
don't care. And if he's dead, I don't want to think about him.
Death is the only thing that really frightens me - I hate it.'
'Harry, don't people say that... that Basil was murdered?'
said Dorian.
'Some of the newspapers say so,' replied Lord Henry, 'but
who would want to murder poor Basil? He wasn't clever
enough to have enemies.'
'What will you say, Harry, if I tell you that I murdered
Basil?' asked Dorian. He watched his friend carefully.
Lord Henry smiled. 'No, my dear Dorian, murder wouldn't
please you. You like a different kind of pleasure. And you
should never do anything that you cannot talk about after
dinner.' He lifted his coffee cup. 'What happened to the fine
portrait that Basil painted of you? I haven't seen it for years.
Didn't you tell me that it was stolen? What a pity!'
'Oh, I never really liked it,' said Dorian. 'I prefer not to
think about it.'
For a while the two men were silent. Then the older man
lay back in his chair and looked at Dorian with half-closed
eyes, 'Tell me how you have kept your youth and your
wonderful beauty, Dorian. You must have some secret. I'm
disappeared. I don't know why, because there are plenty ofother things that they can talk about — my wife has run awaywith another man, Alan Campbell has killed himself . . .''What do you think has happened to Basil?' asked Dorianslowly.'I've no idea,' answered Lord Henry. 'The English policereport that Basil went to Paris on the midnight train on theninth of November, but the French police say that he neverarrived in Paris at all. If Basil wants to hide himself, I reallydon't care. And if he's dead, I don't want to think about him.Death is the only thing that really frightens me - I hate it.''Harry, don't people say that... that Basil was murdered?'said Dorian.'Some of the newspapers say so,' replied Lord Henry, 'butwho would want to murder poor Basil? He wasn't cleverenough to have enemies.''What will you say, Harry, if I tell you that I murderedBasil?' asked Dorian. He watched his friend carefully.Lord Henry smiled. 'No, my dear Dorian, murder wouldn'tplease you. You like a different kind of pleasure. And youshould never do anything that you cannot talk about afterdinner.' He lifted his coffee cup. 'What happened to the fineportrait that Basil painted of you? I haven't seen it for years.Didn't you tell me that it was stolen? What a pity!''Oh, I never really liked it,' said Dorian. 'I prefer not tothink about it.'For a while the two men were silent. Then the older manlay back in his chair and looked at Dorian with half-closedeyes, 'Tell me how you have kept your youth and yourwonderful beauty, Dorian. You must have some secret. I'm
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