1 I can't tell you what it was, but it was terrible.
2 He would never again tempt by a prayer any terrible power.
3 Your name was implicated in the most terrible confession I ever read.
4 Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life.
5 It is not my fault that this terrible tragedy has prevented my doing what was right.
6 Then had come Lord Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric on youth, his terrible warning of its brevity.
7 During the three terrible hours that the play had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain, aeon upon aeon of torture.
8 There were passions in him that would find their terrible outlet, dreams that would make the shadow of their evil real.
9 After two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round and came and stood behind him, putting his hand upon his shoulder.
10 He himself could not help wondering at the calm of his demeanour, and for a moment felt keenly the terrible pleasure of a double life.
11 The terrible moment, the moment that night and day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded, had come at last, and yet she felt no terror.
12 The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to him to be dividing time into separate atoms of agony, each of which was too terrible to be borne.
13 Gradually the events of the preceding night crept with silent, blood-stained feet into his brain and reconstructed themselves there with terrible distinctness.
14 He felt that he had known them all, those strange terrible figures that had passed across the stage of the world and made sin so marvellous and evil so full of subtlety.
15 He felt a terrible joy at the thought that some one else was to share his secret, and that the man who had painted the portrait that was the origin of all his shame was to be burdened for the rest of his life with the hideous memory of what he had done.
16 He would examine with minute care, and sometimes with a monstrous and terrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the wrinkling forehead or crawled around the heavy sensual mouth, wondering sometimes which were the more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age.
17 Upon the walls of the lonely locked room where he had spent so much of his boyhood, he had hung with his own hands the terrible portrait whose changing features showed him the real degradation of his life, and in front of it had draped the purple-and-gold pall as a curtain.
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