Sparse, whippet-thin, black hair worn unfashionably long and unwigged, steel-gray eyes above an aquiline nose slightly bent high on the bridge. Living alone at the outskirts of London, a morning's easy trot from the nefarious Tower, just past the rolling meadows where old King John camped in the fortnight's rain.
Sir John Roberson--declined Lordship in 1824 because he said he had no time for anything related to a Lord--spent many of his days reading, writing letters and exploring the habits of his fellow Englishmen and some of the women. Abstemious in drink and food, he was a notorious bachelor with several pierced hearts in his past and in tow, the freedom allowing him to fully pursue his hobbies of collecting books, playing cards and criticizing culture with monastic intensity: persistently, but without undue emotion. Easy with wit and charm, he was nonetheless tolerated, if not a tad feared, for his distant mien and demeanor. Sir John was never seen angry, nor laughing, so both the hooks needed to box the man in were denied the populace.
To be continued...
Announcing December 2011 Edition of "20 in 5"
To finish "Fencing, Not Boxing" and 19 other great stories, please buy the inaugural ebook edition of "20 in 5."
0 comments:
Post a Comment