终结者：黑暗命运真的(de )！那么(me )坏的(de )美国(guó )人死(sǐ )后(hòu )上哪(nǎ )儿呢？公爵夫人(rén )问(wèn )道。他(tā )们去(qù )美(měi )国，亨(hēng )利勋(xūn )爵咕哝着(zhe )。often, on returning home from one of those mysterious and prolonged absences that gave rise to such strange conjecture among those who were his friends, or thought that they were so, he himself would creep upstairs to the locked room, open the door with the key that never left him now, and stand, with a mirror, in front of the portrait that basil hallward had painted of him, looking now at the evil and aging face on the canvas, and now at the fair young face that laughed back at him from the polished glass. the very sharpness of the contrast used to quicken his sense of pleasure. he grew more and more enamoured of his own beauty, more and more interested in the corruption of his own soul. he would examine with minute care, and sometimes with a monstrous and terrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the wrinkling forehead or crawled around the heavy sensual mouth, wondering sometimes which were the more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age. he would place his white hands beside the coarse bloated hands of the picture, and smile. he mocked the misshapen body and the failing limbs.