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 the best thing you have ever done" said Lord Henry languidly. "You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. The Grosvenor is the only place" "I don't think I will senn it any where," he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford "no: I won't send it any where. And yet you are quite right about it. It is my best work." Lord Henry elevates his eyebrow, and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curls up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium tainted cigarette. "Not send it anywhere? my dear fellow why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do any thing in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away, It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite