1 But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself.
2 Yet they seemed to him to have come really from himself.
3 Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.
4 One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from the world.
5 "American novels," answered Lord Henry, helping himself to some quail.
6 Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair and watched him.
7 And Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan and opened his cigarette-case.
8 A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had recognized himself for the first time.
9 He found that he had passed his aunt's some distance, and, smiling to himself, turned back.
10 As the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself down on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face.
11 It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself.
12 He pictured to himself with silent amusement the tedious luncheon that he had missed by staying so long with Basil Hallward.
13 The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their own special property, and that if any one of us makes an ass of himself, he is poaching on their preserves.
14 He paid some attention to the management of his collieries in the Midland counties, excusing himself for this taint of industry on the ground that the one advantage of having coal was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the decency of burning wood on his own hearth.
15 The son, who had been his father's secretary, had resigned along with his chief, somewhat foolishly as was thought at the time, and on succeeding some months later to the title, had set himself to the serious study of the great aristocratic art of doing absolutely nothing.
16 In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.
17 Fortunately for him she had on the other side Lord Faudel, a most intelligent middle-aged mediocrity, as bald as a ministerial statement in the House of Commons, with whom she was conversing in that intensely earnest manner which is the one unpardonable error, as he remarked once himself, that all really good people fall into, and from which none of them ever quite escape.
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