ing. There were moments, later on, when it had the wild passion of
violins. You know how a voice can stir one. Your voice and the voice of
Sibyl Vane are two things that I shall never forget. When I close my
eyes, I hear them, and each of them says something different. I don't
know which to follow. Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her.
She is everything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play.
One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. I have
seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poison from
her lover's lips. I have watched her wandering through the forest of
Arden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. She
has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty king, and given
him rue to wear, and bitter herbs to taste of. She has been innocent,
and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reed-like throat. I
have seen her in every age and in every costume. Ordinary women never
appeal to one's imagination. They are limited to their century. No
glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one
knows their bonnets. One can always find them. There is no mystery in
any of them. They ride in the Park in the morning, and chatter at
tea-parties in the afternoon. They have their stereotyped smile, and
their fashionable manner. They are quite obvious. But an actress! How
different an actress is! Harry! why didn't you tell me that the only
thing worth loving is an actress?"

"Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian."

"Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces."

"Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is an extraordinary
charm in them, sometimes," said Lord Henry.

"I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane."

"You could not have helped telling me, Dorian. All through your life you
will tell me everything you do."

"Yes, Harry, I believe that is true. I cannot help telling you things.
You have a curious influence over me. If I ever did a crime, I would
come and confess it to you. You would understand me."

"People like you--the wilful sunbeams of life--don't commit crimes,
Dorian. But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same. And now
tell me--reach me the matches, like a good boy: thanks:--what are your
actual relations with Sibyl Vane?"

Dorian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning eyes.
"Harry! Sibyl Vane is sacred!"

"It is only the sacr