The Picture of Dorian Gray
The Picture of Dorian Gray Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleamed through the windows. He read on by its wan light till he could read no more. Then, after his valet had reminded him several times of the lateness of the hour, he got up, and, going into the next room, placed the book on the little Florentine table that always stood at his bedside, and began to dress for dinner.
It was almost nine o’clock before he reached the club, where he found Lord Henry sitting alone, in the morning-room, looking very bored.
‘I am so sorry, Harry,’ he cried, ‘but really it is entirely your fault. That book you sent me so fascinated me that I forgot what the time was.’
‘I thought you would like it,’ replied his host, rising from his chair.
‘I didn’t say I liked it, Harry. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.’
‘Ah, if you have discovered that, you have discovered a great deal,’ murmured Lord Henry, with his curious smile. ‘Come, let us go in to dinner. It is dreadfully late, and I am afraid the champagne will be too much iced.’