"Why? I thought everybody admired Wilde's wit. It's clever, isn't it?"
"I don't like it!"
"But it's supposed to be awfully clever!" she insisted.
"It's a common melodrama with bits of wit and epigram stuck on to it!" Henry answered.
"Oh, really!"
"The wit isn't natural ... it doesn't grow naturally out of the life of the play, I mean. It's stuck on like ... like plaster images on the front of a house. The witty speeches aren't spontaneous ... they don't come inevitably!... I'm afraid I'm not making myself very clear, but anyhow, I don't like the play. I don't like anything Wilde wrote, except 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol,' and even that's not true. That's really why I dislike his work. It isn't true, any of it. It's all lies...."
"How awfully interesting!"
"Do you know 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol'? he asked.
"No.... Oh, yes! I have read it. Of course, I have. Somebody lent it to me or I bought it or something.... Anyhow, I have read it, but I can't remember...."
"Do you remember the lines?...