Then uncover the picture, Basil, and you will see my soul.’ A cry of horror came from the artist when he saw the terrible face in the portrait. How could that evil and unlovely face be Dorian’s Gray’s? But yes, it was. He went nearer to the picture. It could not be the portrait that he had painted. But yes, there was his name written in the corner. He turned and looked at Dorian Gray with the eyes of a sick man. ‘What does this mean?’ he asked at last. ‘When you finished the portrait,’ replied Dorian, ‘ I made a wish…’ ‘I remember, yes,’ said Basil. ‘You wished that the picture could become old and that you could stay young. But this …’ He stared again at the picture. ‘This is impossible. And you told me that you’d destroyed the picture.’ ‘I was wrong. It has destroyed me.’ ‘My God, Dorian!’ cried the artist. ‘If this is true… if this is the face of your soul, then you are more evil that the worst of the stories about you.’ He sat down at the table and put his face in his hands. ‘You must ask God for his help.’ ‘It’s too late, Basil.’ ‘It’s never too late, Dorian. Look at the terrible face. Look at it!’
Dorian turned and stared at the face in the picture, and suddenly he hated Basil more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.
