On the ninth of November, Dorian was walking home near eleven o'clock at night after dining with Lady Helena. He was wrapped in heavy furs against the frigid and foggy night. The street was veiled in a weighty mist, the streetlights glowing in blanketed orbs of grey. They cast strange silhouettes on the swirling vapor that hovered above the ground. As he moved along, unable to see but a few feet ahead, he had the strange sensation that he was being followed. There was a familiarity to the presence that he couldn't quite place. A sense of instinctual fear came over him, which he quickly dismissed. Any miscreant would also be swallowed in the enveloping white shroud and would find his path difficult, if not impossible, to track.

At the corner of Grosvenor Square and South Audley Street, a woman passed him in the haze. She was wearing a mink coat and walking very quickly by with a heavy cowhide bag in her hand. Though blurry in the fog, he recognized the gait and dress of the woman. It could belong to none other than his estranged friend, Sage. Dorian made no sign of recognition but went hurriedly on in the direction of his own house, hoping he had not also been recognized in the gloom. But she had seen him. Her footsteps stopped on the pavement about a meter after they passed each other and then the sound turned and began hurrying after him. In a few moments her hand was on his arm.

"Dorian! What an extraordinary piece of luck! I have been waiting for you in your library since nine o'clock. Finally I took pity on your valet and sent him home. He was anxious to begin his holiday this weekend. I am off to Paris myself, by the midnight train then ferry. I needed to see you before I left. Strange, I thought I had seen two shapes dressed in heavy fur coats as you passed me, but now I see that it was just you. Didn't you recognize me?"

"Not in this murk, Sage. Why, I can barely see my own hand right in front of my own face. I am sorry to hear that you are going away, I have not seen you for ages. I suppose you will be returning soon?"

"No, I will be away from England for at least six months. I will be working in a small studio in Paris on a new great work that I have trapped in my head. But let us go inside and talk for a moment."

"I would be quite pleased to do so. But won't you miss your train?"

"I have at least an hour and I have already sent on ahead the majority of my luggage. All that I have with me is my bag."

"What an adventure. Come let us get out of this frigid fog and into the warmth of the house."

With that the two made their way quickly down the empty street and up the steps to Dorian's door. They went inside and were greeted by the light of a pleasant fire and the lamps still lit. The two hung up their coats and Sage placed her bag in the corner. After they were seated, Dorian served the brandy-and-soda himself—now regretting allowing his valet to leave early on holiday. Sage spoke up immediately. "Now, Dorian I want to speak to you quite seriously."

He answered her in a petulant voice. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Dorian, you need to know that people are saying the most dreadful things against you in London. They are talking as if you are some vile and degraded fiend. Mind you, I don't believe these rumors at all. When I look at your face, I can't believe them. Sin is something that cannot be hidden. It is written plain across one's countenance. Whereas your face is so pure and innocent from any fault. I see you so seldom now, you never come by the studio anymore to visit. But tell me Dorian, why a man such as the Duke of Berwick leaves a room when you enter? How is it that so many other gentlemen refuse your invitations to dine at your house, and never invite you to dine at theirs?"

Sage paused with tears brimming her eyes. Dorian extended his handkerchief to her and she dabbed her eyes before continuing. "Do you remember Lord Crawley? The two of you were once such close friends. I met him at dinner last week. When your name came up in the conversation he curled his lip and remarked that no pure-minded girl should ever be introduced to you, nor any chaste woman even sit in the same room as you. I told him I was a friend of yours and asked him his meaning. He gave me so many terrible examples! He mentioned the wretched Pickering girl who committed suicide, and Sir Robert Medcalf who left England with a ruined name. He spoke of the dreadful end that befell Clara Cosgrove. What about the young Duchess of Perth? What sort of life will she have now and who will associate with her? What of Lord Donohoe, who was so broken with shame and sorrow over the fate of his only daughter—only to disappear entirely."

Dorian's voice was heavy with contempt as he answered. "Stop it Sage! You have no idea what you are talking about. How could Berwick not leave a room when I enter, when I know everything of his life, and he knows nothing of mine? Did I force the Pickering girl to end her own life? Did I teach Sir Robert Medcalf his vices? Did I force Clara Cosgrove into a life of debauchery? If the Duchess of Perth has taken to writing her friend's names across her bills, how am I her keeper? What is it to me if Lord Donohoe's daughter has taken to the streets and he has fled the country in disgrace? It is all the mindless chatter of the middle classes and their moral prejudices. They simply pretend to be part of intelligent society, while they ignore their own sins and slander their betters."

Sage was no longer able to stop the tears from tumbling down her cheek. "Dorian that is not what I am asking you. I know that England is a corrupt and evil place. The people here have developed a delirium for pleasure. But they have sunken even further down into the depths and all claim that it is you who have led them there."

"You go too far."

"I must speak, and you must listen. When you first met Lady Collingwood, she was untouched by any thread of scandal. Now, no decent woman will drive with her in the park. Even her children are forbidden from living with her. There are all these terrible tales of you seen creeping about at dawn, leaving from dreadful houses and slinking about in disguise. Your face has been associated with all of the foulest dens in London. Are these rumors true? Can they be? I don't mean to preach at you, but you should live a life that commands the respect that you deserve. I want you to clear your name and end your association with these dreadful people. Let your influence be used for good and not evil."

Sage paused and looked at Dorian with an imploring look, wanting to see the good in him.

"Go on Sage, finish what you have to say to me."

"You must give me some answer to these horrible charges against you. Tell me they are false and I will believe you. Deny them! I wonder, do I even know the real Dorian Gray? I should like to see your soul."

"See my soul!" Dorian exclaimed as he leapt up from the sofa, his complexion turning white with fear.

"Yes," answered Sage, "but only God can do that."

A laugh of mockery broke from his lips. "But you shall see it for yourself, you shall be as God—tonight! Come, the inconceivable truth is written in your very own handiwork. You might as well look at it now. Witness the corruption of it face-to-face."

With a mad sort of pride, Dorian picked up a small lamp and beckoned Sage to follow him. He started up the stairs towards the locked room above. As they reached the top of the landing, Dorian set down the lamp and opened the metal bars with his well-worn key. He hesitated for a moment and turned to Sage.

"You are the only person in the world who is entitled to learn this secret about me. You have more to do with forming my life than you know."

They entered together and Dorian shut the door behind them and locked it. Sage glanced around with a puzzled expression. The room had not been lived in for many years. It was bedraggled and empty, save for a lone open armchair and ebony lamp table. Most of the room was covered with a film of dust and an alarmed mouse ran silently through a ragged hole that was chewed into the corner wall.

Dorian gestured to the stained shroud hanging on the wall. "Is it only God that can see the soul, Sage? Draw back that filthy curtain and see mine."

"You are mad Dorian."

"So you won't do it? Then I must reveal it myself." With that Dorian tore the curtain from the metal rod and flung it savagely to the ground.