Precari
Dorian looked over at Basil, sitting by the table, staring mesmerised by the painting, and suddenly he hated him. Basil had painted the picture, and now Basil was looking upon it, and Basil was repulsed by his own work. Dorian ached.
He stared about him with a kind of hunted expression and snatched a knife off the chest near him. He'd left it up here by mistake. A lucky mistake! Right now, he was so full of hate that it would split him in a moment, and he would do anything to see Basil Hallward dead.
He spun around with a small clatter, knocking something over, and broke Basil from his horrified trance. Dorian saw this, and quickly, he began to drive the knife down, but Basil caught both his wrists and held him tightly.
"My God."
"Pray, Dorian! Pray!"
Suddenly he realised Basil's eyes were filled with tears, and he shuddered. "You're hurting me, Basil," he said with forced calm.
"Dorian, you must pray. We will pray together. If you think it a shame, it is a shame we'll both undertake. You must pray!"
"Basil, let go of me. You're hurting me."
Basil trembled. "Dorian, we have both sinned, but God will help us if we pray. He will take away my love and your evil. Please, Dorian."
"God doesn't help me any longer," whispered Dorian, and once again he started to sob. The knife fell from his hand.
Instantly Basil let go of his wrists, and instead wrapped his arms about Dorian. "Hush. He will. He will help us both together. Pray, Dorian, with me? Pray?"
"I don't know any prayers."
"I do. Speak along with me." He whispered the Pater Noster into Dorian's golden hair, and Dorian's shaking hands knotted in his shirt.
Chapter Four.
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