The cobbler

There stood the shoemaker hesitant with apprehension, slender white fingers hugging the counter awaiting the customer’s enquiry.

His slight frame poised, adding gentility to a face at once refined yet naive. With steadfast gaze, a calm assuredness smiled through clear blue eyes, brows raised in question  adding dignity rather than arrogance.

Such was the shoemaker’s bearing, that he unwittingly enhanced rumours that he was indeed of noble birth.

Secluded and secretive all were intrigued with his mysterious past.

As the customer spoke, explaining his problem the shoemaker listened intently; delicately handling the shoes to be fixed. And as the customer watched he could not help but feel, adroit as the shoemaker was, the dignity inherent in a man of such carriage, must have indeed come from aristocratic heredity.


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