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You only have until midnight November 27th to accept this unbelievable offer for a lifetime membership to Behind the Markets - and our 6 exclusive reports. [Logo ]( [[icon]About Us]( Time's almost up. You only have until midnight November 27th to accept this unbelievable offer for a lifetime membership to Behind the Markets - and our 6 exclusive reports. For the first time ever, we're offering a lifetime membership of Behind the Markets for just $99. And as long as you [get in before midnight]( you can still still cash in for your 95% off discount. Behind the Markets has a special place in my heart - it's where it all started. I've been able to help independent investors like yourself see multiple triple-digit winners in just the past two years alone. And with a 91% accuracy rate and an average return of 50% in the past two years, I think we're truly one of the best advisory services out there. Times are tough, and with terrifying world events and [major retirement threats]( looming - you can't afford to not take me up on this offer and subscribe now. Typically, a lifetime subscription of Behind the Markets and our 6 exclusive reports would cost you $2,278. But for the next few hours only, we've reduced that to just $99. AND we're offering you a 30-day no strings attached, money back guarantee. So remember, if for whatever reason this service does not meet or exceed your expectations, I will give you 100% of your subscription fee back. And you can still keep the 6 exclusive reports as my Thanksgiving gift to you. [So don't wait, sign up to Behind the Markets today]( "The Buck Stops Here." Dylan Jovine, Founder & CEO Behind the Markets Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him, as though it had been suggested to him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than in his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it and turned round. Hallward stirred in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man’s head down on the table and stabbing again and again. There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened. He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck and the clotted black pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and walking over to the window, opened it and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock’s tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing the long beam of his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the square. The gas-lamps flickered and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches to and fro. He shivered and went back, closing the window behind him. 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