Yes, it was for the long palette-knife, with its thin blade of lithe steel.

He had found it at last.

He was going to rip up the canvas.
With a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch, and, rushing over to Hallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flung it to the end of the studio.

"Don't, Basil, don't!" he cried.

"It would be murder!" "I am glad you appreciate my work at last, Dorian," said the painter coldly when he had recovered from his surprise.