The painting, the book, and the boy. If Henry knew that Dorian had the painting again, he would say that it is only right that all three works of art be together.

He reaches out and puts a hand on Dorian's shoulder. There is an unwonted sombre quality to his expression; he is actually serious. Sincere, even, to his own surprise.

"Do not think that I shall ever forget what you have done." The secrets he spoke to Oscar. Basil. For a just a moment his grip tightens, almost painfully—then he lets go, with a small, unconscious pat before letting his hand fall back to his side. "But somehow I remain fond of you all the same, my dear Dorian. I expect I always shall. There is no one like you, in our world or any other." He smiles then, a faintly brittle expression. "And make no mistake, I will take up your offer. You must know that."