Basil stared at
him. ‘You went out to dinner?’ he said slowly. ‘You went out to dinner while
Sybil Vane was lying dead in some dirty theatre?’ ‘Stop Basil! I won’t listen to
you!’ Dorian jumped to his feet. ‘Sybil Vane is in the past… finished…
forgotten.’ ‘You’ve changed, Dorian,’ said Basil. ‘You have the same wonderful
face, but where is the kind and gentle boy show sat for my portrait? Have you no
heart?’
‘Yesterday my heart was full of sadness. I have cried for Sybil, yes, but I cannot cry today.
I Have changed, Basil, I’m a man now, with new feelings, new ideas. Don’t be
angry with me. I am what I am. There’s nothing more to say.’ Basil watched him
sadly. ‘Well, Dorian,’ he said at last. ‘I won’t speak of poor Sybil again. But
will you come and sit for another portrait soon?’ ‘No. Never,’ said Dorian
quickly. ‘It’s impossible.’ ‘But why?’ asked Basil, very surprised. ‘And why
have you covered the portrait?’ He walked across the room towards the painting.
Dorian cried out in fear, and ran between Basil and the portrait. ‘No, Basil!
You must not look at it. I don’t want you to see it.’ His face was white and
angry. ‘If you try to look at it, I ‘ll never speak to you again.’
