D. G. looked at the picture, and suddenly hatred for B. H. came over him. The mad passion of a hunted animal came to life inside him. The hated the man who had painted that portrait. He looked wildly around. Something was shining on the table. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was.
It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it. As soon as he got behind him, he quickly took it, rushed at Hallward and dug the knife into his neck. Then he hit Hallward three more times. The man*s head fell forwards. And the blood ran slowly across the table and down on the floor. His friend was dead. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened.

Dorian Gray threw his coat on the table and passed into the library. For a quarter of an hour he walked up and down the room, thinking. Then he took down his addressbook and began to turn over the pages.
"Alan Campbell, 152, Herford Street, Mayfair".
Yes; that was the man he wanted.




ЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫЫ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Жа-алко...