His life is dreadful.

But you, Dorian, with your pure, bright, innocent face, and your marvellous untroubled youth--I can't believe anything against you.

And yet I see you very seldom, and you never come down to the studio now, and when I am away from you, and I hear all these hideous things that people are whispering about you, I don't know what to say.

Why is it, Dorian, that a man like the Duke of Berwick leaves the room of a club when you enter it?
Why is it that so many gentlemen in London will neither go to your house or invite you to theirs?
You used to be a friend of Lord Staveley.

I met him at dinner last week.