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A twisted flash of pain shot across the painter's face. He paused

for a moment, and a wild feeling of pity came over him. After

all, what right had he to pry into the life of Dorian Gray? If he

had done a tithe of what was rumoured about him, how much he must

have suffered! Then he straightened himself up, and walked over

to the fire-place, and stood there, looking at the burning logs

with their frostlike ashes and their throbbing cores of flame.

"I am waiting, Basil," said the young man in a hard clear voice.

He turned round. "What I have to say is this," he cried. "You

must give me some answer to these horrible charges that are made

against you. If you tell me that they are absolutely untrue from

beginning to end, I shall believe you. Deny them, Dorian, deny

them! Can't you see what I am going through? My God! don't tell

me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful."