The Long Palette Knife

Dorian gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and with pallid face and tear stained eyes looked at him as he walked over to the deal painting table that was set beneath the high, curtained window. What was he doing there? His fingers were stringing about among the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for something. Yes, it was for the long palette knife with its thin blade of live steel. He had found it at last. With a stifled sob, the lad leaped from the couch and rushing over to Hallwood, tore the knife out of his hand and flung it to the end of the studio. Don't bezel, don't. It

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