I possess."

It occurred to me once to ask Oscar in later years whether the boarding school
life of a great, public school was not responsible for a good deal of sensual
viciousness.

"Englishmen all say so," he replied, "but it did not enter into my experience.
I was very childish, Frank; a mere boy till I was over sixteen. Of course I was
sensual and curious, as boys are, and had the usual boy imaginings; but I did
not indulge in them excessively.

"At Portora nine out of ten boys only thought of football or cricket or rowing.
Nearly every one went in for athletics--running and jumping and so forth; no one
appeared to care for sex. We were healthy young barbarians and that was all."

"Did you go in for games?" I asked.

"No," Oscar replied smiling, "I never liked to kick or be kicked."

"Surely you went about with some younger boy, did you not, to whom you told your
dreams and hopes, and whom you grew to care for?"

The question led to an intimate personal confession, which may take its place
here.

"It is strange you should have mentioned it," he said. "There was one boy,
and," he added slowly, "one peculiar incident. It occurred in my last year at
Portora. The boy was a couple of years younger than I--we were great friends;
we used to take long walks together and I talked to him interminably. I told
him what I should have done had I been Alexander, or how I'd have played king in