The library was laden with the dust of centuries. In one
corner sat an old man on a chair nearly bursting with stuffing. His frail hands
held the yellowed parchment he was reading close to his failing eyes, as though
he was reading by a single candle, rather than the candelabra on the table next
to him. His skin was sallow where not covered by unsightly age spots and the
top of his head was bare apart from a few greasy wisps of hair. The robes
hanging off loosely his emaciated body were equally decrepit. They were faded
and torn.
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