s ted across rangely young-looking face and lingered for a moment about  error to  as if ted from him already.

    in quietly, locking tom, and dragged trait. A cry of pain and indignation broke from  in te. till loat de spotted ter, and more like blood nerembled.  been merely vanity t ion, as Lord ed,  passion to act a part t sometimes makes us do tain larger t  seemed to  like a ed feet, as t   mean t o confess? to give  to deat t trous. Besides, even if race of to royed.  airs. t  ed in ory. . . . Yet it o confess, to suffer public so make public atonement. to tell to earto  ill old tle to ty Merton. For it  mirror, t . Vanity? Curiosity? ion t? t least  so. But y ys sake ried t now.

    But t to dog o be burdened by ? as o confess? Never. t of evidence left against ure itself-- t .  it so long? Once it o c ce  no suc   nigerror lest ot. It  melancs mere memory s of joy. It o  roy it.

    abbed Basil  many times, till tain left upon it. It  er, so it ers  t meant. It , and rous soul-life, and  its  peace. abbed ture .

    ts agony t tened servants  out of tlemen,  t ill t a policeman and brougimes, but t for a ligop er a time,  aood in an adjoining portico and ched.

    quot;, Constable?quot; asked tlemen.

    quot;Mr. Dorian Grays, sir,quot; anshe policeman.

    t eacons uncle.

    Inside, in ts part of tics alking in low wo each.

    After about a quarter of an  tmen and crept upstairs. t t. Everytill. Finally, after vainly trying to force t on