Lord Arthur Savile's Crime谷月社, 30. 10. 2015 It was Lady Windermere’s last reception before Easter, and Bentinck House was even more crowded than usual. Six Cabinet Ministers had come on from the Speaker’s Levée in their stars and ribands, all the pretty women wore their smartest dresses, and at the end of the picture-gallery stood the Princess Sophia of Carlsrühe, a heavy Tartar-looking lady, with tiny black eyes and wonderful emeralds, talking bad French at the top of her voice, and laughing immoderately at everything that was said to her. It was certainly a wonderful medley of people. Gorgeous peeresses chatted affably to violent Radicals, popular preachers brushed coat-tails with eminent sceptics, a perfect bevy of bishops kept following a stout prima-donna from room to room, on the staircase stood several Royal Academicians, disguised as artists, and it was said that at one time the supper-room was absolutely crammed with geniuses. In fact, it was one of Lady Windermere’s best nights, and the Princess stayed till nearly half-past eleven. As soon as she had gone, Lady Windermere returned to the picture-gallery, where a celebrated political economist was solemnly explaining the scientific theory of music to an indignant virtuoso from Hungary, and began to talk to the Duchess of Paisley. She looked wonderfully beautiful with her grand ivory throat, her large blue forget-me-not eyes, and her heavy coils of golden hair....
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... nights , and the Princess stayed till nearly half - past eleven . As soon as she had gone , Lady Windermere returned to the picture - gallery , where a celebrated political economist was solemnly explaining the scientific theory of ...
... the large striped awning , and seeming not to see or hear anything . The night was bitter cold , and the gas - lamps round the square flared and flickered in the keen wind ; but his hands were hot with fever , and his forehead burned.
... night seemed to know it , and the desolate wind to howl it in his ear . The dark corners of the streets were full of it . It grinned at him from the roofs of the houses . First he came to the Park , whose sombre woodland seemed to ...
... turned on his heel, and hurried on into the night. Where he went he hardly knew. He had a dim memory of wandering through a labyrinth of sordid houses, of being lost in a giant web of sombre streets, and it was bright dawn.
... night and the smoke of day, a pallid, ghost-like city, a desolate town of tombs! He wondered what they thought of it, and whether they knew anything of its splendour and its shame, of its fierce, fiery- coloured joys, and its horrible ...
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Lord Arthur Savile's Crime: The Portrait of Mr. W.H., and Other Stories Oscar Wilde Úplné zobrazenie - 1914 |