I. What I want is information: not useful information, of course; useless information. (Video)

[epigrammatical]

[For a man of his era, Lord Henry has picked up the basics of the computer with surprising alacrity and ease. Perhaps he has been motivated by the understanding that it provides him with a platform of unprecedented scale.

So behold: a well-bred Englishman in his mid- to late-forties: if his good looks are a bit worn around the edges, he is still quite handsome in a way that suggests he cut a truly rakish figure when younger. His voice is exceptionally pleasant and musical, and when he speaks, his words are accompanied by graceful—though not excessive—gestures of his slender hands.]

I am given to understand that this device offers a podium to rival the pulpit at Westminster Abbey. Capital—although I assure you that I shall not bore you with a sermon; I can't abide a man who makes of himself an amateur curate.

Allow me to introduce myself—Lord Henry Wotton, late of London, which is not nearly so exciting as the vision of Moreau in which I now find myself. There are many questions with which I'm rather concerned at the moment, but most importantly, where does one find a tailor in this city? And, tiresome though domestic matters are, I suppose I must enquire after a valet. There are many indignities a gentleman may suffer in silence, but not an inadequate selection of poorly-pressed shirts.

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[depicted]

[Dorian hesitates. When he speaks, it is gently.] You were never careless with it. I believe that it remains in your study until it becomes the legal possession of your inheritors.

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[epigrammatical]

[Henry is slightly relieved by this, though not entirely.]

Ah. My brother's sons, then. Or his daughter, I suppose. They are entirely dull, responsible young people with no feeling for art—but then their mother is heiress to a family of grocers, who can teach them to appreciate little but the shine on a ripe apple.

[Though Henry is aware that there is only so much he can say against his sister-in-law, since her American fortune has done much to shore up the Marquess's estate, and by extension, Henry's own living.]

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[depicted]

If they can truly appreciate that, they have more art in them than half of London.

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[epigrammatical]

It is a start, I suppose, but to find art in nature is no great achievement.

[And with that, Henry is off again on another of his declamations on art and artificiality, half-believed, half-invented on the spot. It is as if he were once again in Lady Agatha's drawing room, and Dorian's gaze and listening ear once again giving wings to his wit.]