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When he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infinite joy came over her. "How badly I acted to–night, Dorian!" she cried.
"Horribly!" he answered, gazing at her in amazement,––"horribly! It was dreadful. Are you ill? You have no idea what it was. You have no idea what I suffered."
The girl smiled. "Dorian," she answered, lingering over his name with long–drawn music in her voice, as though it were sweeter than honey to the red petals of her lips,––"Dorian, you should have understood. But you understand now, don't you?"
"Understand what?" he asked, angrily.
"Why I was so bad to–night. Why I shall always be bad. Why I shall never act well again."
He shrugged his shoulders. "You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill you shouldn't act. You make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was bored."