A Portrait of Death by Clive Owen Barry
It was within the early hours of darkness the carriage finally came to rest , there so parked to be hidden amongst the dark shadows of a deserted Via del Catania . The door nearest the curb opened , and out stepped the imposing figure of Don Allisandru Palatino , accessorised in wide brimmed Fedora and cape , carrying in a gloved hand , the ebony and silver monogrammed cane .
To the front of the carriage , the handsome face looked up towards the etched features of his driver hunched over on the high spring bench , still gripping firm in his left fist the reigns of two perfectly matched Spanish Menorquin mares , whilst his other placed the long coachman ’ s whip into its holster , a thin braid of leather dangling loose at its tip . ‘ Wait for me here Alberto , I won ’ t be long .’ The black bearded coachman acknowledged by lifting the now empty right hand as he nodded , touching with the knuckle of his forefinger a lock of unruly hair having fallen free across that of his tanned forehead .
‘ Si signore ,’ was all there was time for , before the Don abruptly turned to disappear through the entrance of an even darker corridor , his cape flowing wildly behind , as the sound of heavy boot leather echoed off into the distance of the cobblestone alley .
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