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