Man of Twenty

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The mysterious young gentleman was a burly, but trim man of twenty. His rigid features and constant twitching of his eyebrows suggested a man of great complexity. As he sat perched upon his stool, like an attentive hawk searching for his prey, he nursed his shot of brandy, while solemnly remembering the sequence of occurrences that day. As he meditated in his vegetative state, his flaxen locks fluttered with the sudden twitch of his eyebrows, shrouding his unfocused gaze. The fellow patrons caught a glimpse of a sudden spark in the shadows, as the gentlemen lit his last cigar and quickly downed his last swig. As he sat puffing his smoke, he silently paid his tab, and rose from his stool, as the bartender uttered an almost indistinguishable, “Thank you”. As the gentleman exited the establishment, a clutch of ruffians gracing the bar counter could not help but notice a slight limp in his step, uncharacteristic of a man his age. As they glanced at each other, the man of twenty swiftly wrapped his cloak around him and submerged into the darkness, as quickly as he had appeared.





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