- Sharpe looked at the man with a mocking expression. The tidy clothes, the overdone welcome. Sharpe looked him up and down... A pen-pusher, not a man, just an empty shell with polished outer layer. Richard spat on the ground 10 inches from the mans feet and the man jumped backwards in disgust.
- “For goodness sake man, are you right in the head?” the man expressed with a cautious hostility.
- Sharpe gave the man a harsh look, seeing a drop of sweat rolling down the mans right cheek and dripping onto his velvet shoulder pads. Then Sharpe raised his arm, the man flinched and Sharpe slapped the man on his arm and started laughing. “HAHAHAHA, ooh good man, you only know the adventure of the local brothel, the wealth of the coins in your coin-purse and your aspirations?! HAH, they died with those Velvet shoulder pads that somehow elevate ‘your’ place in society. Point me to the nearest city gate, I wish to find a place where I can live in peace and not have to look at obnoxious snobs as yourself!”
- The man stands frozen, aghast by his experience with this tall, dark haired, yet handsome man from the harbour. “Well?!” Sharpe exclaims. The man checks himself and slowly raises his left hand, shakingly pointing towards the city gate.
- Another battle won, Sharpe thought, and strut towards the new life.
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