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Perhaps he had read it and had begun to suspect something. And,

yet, what did it matter? What had Dorian Gray to do with Sibyl

Vane's death? There was nothing to fear. Dorian Gray had not

killed her.

His eye fell on the yellow book that Lord Henry had sent him.

What was it, he wondered. He went towards the little,

pearl-coloured octagonal stand that had always looked to him like

the work of some strange Egyptian bees that wrought in silver,

and taking up the volume, flung himself into an arm-chair and

began to turn over the leaves. After a few minutes he became

absorbed. It was the strangest book that he had ever read. It

seemed to him that in exquisite raiment, and to the delicate

sound of flutes, the sins of the world were passing in dumb show

before him. Things that he had dimly dreamed of were suddenly

made real to him. Things of which he had never dreamed were

gradually revealed.