Fines
On Sunday, Dorian was bored. He couldn't think of anything to do that didn't seem bothersome, and so went walking. He often walked, as it charmed and amused him. There were ever so many things to see when walking, some disgusting and some lovely, and all of them intriguing. He could always entertain himself that way.
Some while into his walk, he caught sight of a man pacing the street unhappily. On a whim, he stopped him.
"Hello, sir."
"Er, hello. Who are you?"
Dorian was surprised. "Dorian Gray. And you?"
"R. Just R."
"What, if I may ask, is upsetting you?" Dorian was quite sure he'd get an answer--people who had never met him before trusted him for his sweet, boyish face. And if he didn't get an answer, it didn't matter to him.
"I doubt you could quite understand. A dear friend of mine," R tripped a little over the words, "is in prison. I am very worried for him."
"Of course," said Dorian.
"I have the scrap of a letter from him, and he has written something which worries me."
"Are you afraid he'll try to take his life?"
"No--perhaps. But this is different." R shrugged uncomfortably. "It's a coincidence, isn't it? That your name is Dorian Gray? Still, he did rather say that Life imitates Art."
"I beg your pardon, what?"
"Nothing. I'm agitated. I must go. Please excuse me." R tipped his hat and hurried off.
Dorian nearly called him back for the bit of paper he'd dropped, but thought it would prove more entertaining to read it.
--The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.
And all men kill the thing they love,
By all let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword.
"Of all the curious things," murmured Dorian Gray, but he did not think it particularly memorable.
Chapter Three.
Back to Chapter One