Basil Hallward's Portrait

The sky was pure opal now and the roofs of the houses glistened like silver against it. From some chimney opposite, a thin wreath of smoke was rising. It curled a violet ribboned through the naker-coloured air. In the huge gilt Venetian lantern that hung from the ceiling of the great oak-paneled hall of entrance, lights were still burning from three flickering jets. Thin blue petals of flame they seemed, rimmed with white fire. He turned them out and having thrown his hat and cape on the table, passed through the library towards the door of his bedroom. His eye fell upon the portrait Basil Hallward had painted off him

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