Perhaps, some day, the cruel look would have passed away from the scarlet sensitive mouth, and he might show to the world Basil Hallward's masterpiece.
No; that was impossible.

Hour by hour, and week by week, the thing upon the canvas was growing old.

It might escape the hideousness of sin, but the hideousness of age was in store for it.

The cheeks would become hollow or flaccid.

Yellow crow's feet would creep round the fading eyes and make them horrible.