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1A cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the dripping mist. The public-houses were just
2closing, and dim men and women were clustering in broken groups round their doors. From some of the bars came the sound
3of horrible laughter. In others, drunkards brawled and screamed. Lying back in the hansom, with his hat pulled over his
4forehead, Dorian Gray watched with listless eyes the sordid shame of the great city, and now and then he repeated to
5himself the words that Lord Henry had said to him on the first day they had met, "To cure the soul by means of the
6senses, and the senses by means of the soul." Yes, that was the secret. He had often tried it, and would try it again
7now. There were opium dens where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed
8by the madness of sins that were new. The moon hung low in the sky like a yellow skull. From time to time a huge
9misshapen cloud stretched a long arm across and hid it. The gas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and
10gloomy. Once the man lost his way and had to drive back half a mile. A steam rose from the horse as it splashed up the
11puddles. The sidewindows of the hansom were clogged with a grey-flannel mist. "To cure the soul by means of the senses,
12and the senses by means of the soul!" How the words rang in his ears! His soul, certainly, was sick to death. Was it
13true that the senses could cure it? Innocent blood had been spilled. What could atone for that? Ah! for that there was
14no atonement; but though forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness was possible still, and he was determined to forget,
15to stamp the thing out, to crush it as one would crush the adder that had stung one. Indeed, what right had Basil to
16have spoken to him as he had done? Who had made him a judge over others? He had said things that were dreadful,
17horrible, not to be endured. On and on plodded the hansom, going slower, it seemed to him, at each step. He thrust up
18the trap and called to the man to drive faster. The hideous hunger for opium began to gnaw at him. His throat burned and
19his delicate hands twitched nervously together. He struck at the horse madly with his stick. The driver laughed and
20whipped up. He laughed in answer, and the man was silent. The way seemed interminable, and the streets like the black
21web of some sprawling spider. The monotony became unbearable, and as the mist thickened, he felt afraid. Then they
22passed by lonely brickfields. The fog was lighter here, and he could see the strange, bottle-shaped kilns with their
23orange, fanlike tongues of fire. A dog barked as they went by, and far away in the darkness some wandering sea-gull
24screamed. The horse stumbled in a rut, then swerved aside and broke into a gallop. After some time they left the clay
25road and rattled again over rough-paven streets. Most of the windows were dark, but now and then fantastic shadows were
26silhouetted against some lamplit blind. He watched them curiously. They moved like monstrous marionettes and made
27gestures like live things. He hated them. A dull rage was in his heart. As they turned a corner, a woman yelled
28something at them from an open door, and two men ran after the hansom for about a hundred yards. The driver beat at them
29with his whip. It is said that passion makes one think in a circle. Certainly with hideous iteration the bitten lips of
30Dorian Gray shaped and reshaped those subtle words that dealt with soul and sense, till he had found in them the full
31expression, as it were, of his mood, and justified, by intellectual approval, passions that without such justification
32would still have dominated his temper. From cell to cell of his brain crept the one thought; and the wild desire to
33live, most terrible of all man's appetites, quickened into force each trembling nerve and fibre. Ugliness that had once
34been hateful to him because it made things real, became dear to him now for that very reason. Ugliness was the one
35reality. The coarse brawl, the loathsome den, the crude violence of disordered life, the very vileness of thief and
36outcast, were more vivid, in their intense actuality of impression, than all the gracious shapes of art, the dreamy
37shadows of song. They were what he needed for forgetfulness. In three days he would be free. Suddenly the man drew up
38with a jerk at the top of a dark lane. Over the low roofs and jagged chimney-stacks of the houses rose the black masts
39of ships. Wreaths of white mist clung like ghostly sails to the yards. "Somewhere about here, sir, ain't it?" he asked
40huskily through the trap. Dorian started and peered round. "This will do," he answered, and having got out hastily and
41given the driver the extra fare he had promised him, he walked quickly in the direction of the quay. Here and there a
42lantern gleamed at the stern of some huge merchantman. The light shook and splintered in the puddles. A red glare came
43from an outward-bound steamer that was coaling. The slimy pavement looked like a wet mackintosh. He hurried on towards
44the left, glancing back now and then to see if he was being followed. In about seven or eight minutes he reached a small
45shabby house that was wedged in between two gaunt factories. In one of the top-windows stood a lamp. He stopped and gave
46a peculiar knock. After a little time he heard steps in the passage and the chain being unhooked. The door opened
47quietly, and he went in without saying a word to the squat misshapen figure that flattened itself into the shadow as he
48passed. At the end of the hall hung a tattered green curtain that swayed and shook in the gusty wind which had followed
49him in from the street. He dragged it aside and entered a long low room which looked as if it had once been a third-rate
50dancing-saloon. Shrill flaring gas-jets, dulled and distorted in the fly-blown mirrors that faced them, were ranged
51round the walls. Greasy reflectors of ribbed tin backed them, making quivering disks of light. The floor was covered
52with ochre-coloured sawdust, trampled here and there into mud, and stained with dark rings of spilled liquor. Some
53Malays were crouching by a little charcoal stove, playing with bone counters and showing their white teeth as they
54chattered. In one corner, with his head buried in his arms, a sailor sprawled over a table, and by the tawdrily painted
55bar that ran across one complete side stood two haggard women, mocking an old man who was brushing the sleeves of his
56coat with an expression of disgust. "He thinks he's got red ants on him," laughed one of them, as Dorian passed by. The
57man looked at her in terror and began to whimper. At the end of the room there was a little staircase, leading to a
58darkened chamber. As Dorian hurried up its three rickety steps, the heavy odour of opium met him. He heaved a deep
59breath, and his nostrils quivered with pleasure. When he entered, a young man with smooth yellow hair, who was bending
60over a lamp lighting a long thin pipe, looked up at him and nodded in a hesitating manner. "You here, Adrian?" muttered
61Dorian. "Where else should I be?" he answered, listlessly. "None of the chaps will speak to me now." "I thought you had
62left England." "Darlington is not going to do anything. My brother paid the bill at last. George doesn't speak to me
63either.... I don't care," he added with a sigh. "As long as one has this stuff, one doesn't want friends. I think I have
64had too many friends." Dorian winced and looked round at the grotesque things that lay in such fantastic postures on the
65ragged mattresses. The twisted limbs, the gaping mouths, the staring lustreless eyes, fascinated him. He knew in what
66strange heavens they were suffering, and what dull hells were teaching them the secret of some new joy. They were better
67off than he was. He was prisoned in thought. Memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away. From time to time
68he seemed to see the eyes of Basil Hallward looking at him. Yet he felt he could not stay. The presence of Adrian
69Singleton troubled him. He wanted to be where no one would know who he was. He wanted to escape from himself. "I am
70going on to the other place," he said after a pause. "On the wharf?" "Yes."
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