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Chapter 4
and gro a breato stir t into consciousness, to o pain. My God, ; ic spots of red burned on erribly excited.

    Lord cle sense of pleasure.  ened boy  in Basil udio! ure  flame. Out of its secret  o meet it on the way.

    quot;And o do?quot; said Lord  last.

    quot;I  you and Basil to come  and see . I  test fear of t. You are certain to ackno  of to  least for time. I so pay  is settled, I sake a est End tre and bring  properly. S;

    quot;t ;

    quot;Yes, s merely art, consummate art-instinct, in  sy also; and you en told me t it is personalities, not principles, t move t;

    quot;ell, w nig;

    quot;Let me see. to-day is tuesday. Let us fix to-morroo-morro;

    quot;All rigol at eig Basil.quot;

    quot;Not eig six. e must be tain rises. You must see  act, ;

    quot; six!  an  ea, or reading an Englis must be seven. No gentleman dines before seven. Se to ;

    quot;Dear Basil! I  laid eyes on  is rat me my portrait in t le jealous of ture for being a  t I delig. Perter e to   to see  annoy me. ;

    Lord ;People are very fond of giving a t is y.quot;

    quot;O of fello o me to be just a bit of a Pine. Since I .quot;

    quot;Basil, my dear boy, puts everyt is co   for life but ists I ful are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in ly are perfectly uninteresting in  poet, a really great poet, is t unpoetical of all creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. turesque t of e sonnets makes a man quite irresist
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