1 No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him.
2 "You must lend me these, Basil," he cried.
3 Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it.
4 You are very pressing, Basil, but I am afraid I must go.
5 I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue with you.
6 Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil.
7 Not at all," answered Lord Henry, "not at all, my dear Basil.
8 "Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger," murmured Lord Henry.
9 "I am all expectation, Basil," continued his companion, glancing at him.
10 I see that Basil is in one of his sulky moods, and I can't bear him when he sulks.
11 "It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done," said Lord Henry languidly.
12 Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart beating, and wondered what was coming.
13 Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you--well, of course you have an intellectual expression and all that.
14 He pictured to himself with silent amusement the tedious luncheon that he had missed by staying so long with Basil Hallward.
15 "I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry," said Basil Hallward, strolling towards the door that led into the garden.
16 Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, "every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.
17 In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many strange conjectures.
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