He was dressed quite elegantly, his shirt was the whitest, silk I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. This was matched with the richest looking gold pants and adorned on his feet were a pair of quality leather boots, it’s black was the same colour as the black coal that burns in the big  archaic fireplace.

His gallant attire was only matched by the huge smile plastered on his satisfied face (a picture of a cat with a belly full of warm milk on a rainy day comes to mind) as he moved confidently into the now eerily silent room. The air was consumed with awe and envy at the sight of a man who luck had shone on.

A man many had forsaken and rejected. Doors had been slammed on his face multiple times. A man once known simply as John that lived down the street,  now known as Mr Harrison the first, the rich philanthropist and the Master of the gigantic mansion on the hill.

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