1 You dear old Jim, you talk as if you were a hundred.
2 When an old woman like myself blushes, it is a very bad sign.
3 "I hope he will fall into proper hands," continued the old man.
4 This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of mine.
5 The old gentleman growled approvingly and rang the bell for his servant.
6 "You will complete it," answered the old gentleman with a courteous bow.
7 Grace was his, and the white purity of boyhood, and beauty such as old Greek marbles kept for us.
8 I went to look after a piece of old brocade in Wardour Street and had to bargain for hours for it.
9 The mother snatched away by death, the boy left to solitude and the tyranny of an old and loveless man.
10 The old Jew stood grinning at the doorway of the dusty greenroom, making elaborate speeches about us both, while we stood looking at each other like children.
11 On the first night I was at the theatre, the horrid old Jew came round to the box after the performance was over and offered to take me behind the scenes and introduce me to her.
12 I have promised to dine at White's, but it is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire to say that I am ill, or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subsequent engagement.
13 Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will feel it terribly.
14 I remember her bringing me up to a truculent and red-faced old gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, and hissing into my ear, in a tragic whisper which must have been perfectly audible to everybody in the room, the most astounding details.
15 The post on her left was occupied by Mr. Erskine of Treadley, an old gentleman of considerable charm and culture, who had fallen, however, into bad habits of silence, having, as he explained once to Lady Agatha, said everything that he had to say before he was thirty.
16 To-night, for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, were not what I wanted to say.
17 At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from Curzon Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial if somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him, but who was considered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him.
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