He was truly a most timid animal. He had been, many years
before, a well-known scientist, and even now the stench of the slimy liquids revealed
his old job. His nervousness showed in tremored limbs: his hands, legs and arms
never took a break from shaking. Looking at him, you would notice, if you
realised his presence in the room at all, that it looked like his body and pallid
skin would fade away into nothingness. His face, I'm afraid to say, was not a
picture that defines beauty nor the face of an distinctive-looking person, and
did not show signs of a single spark of personality. As for his clothes….to say the least, they
were worn and ironed to precision, and too had no personality. He wore the same
combination of smart clothing everyday apart from Sunday when he marked the
occasion of finishing another week (by himself). His handkerchief was a new dull
and old colour every week and almost never came into service and his jet-black
plimsolls were neatly threaded and repaired every day – and seemed to smell of
the same scent every time you entered the room, a strong lemon and lime smell. The belt, a leather belt wrapped tightly around his slim waist, shone like a
pile of diamonds or a pile of glass bottles with chemicals inside. Overall, in
short, he looked more like a brainy nerd than someone who had the best
managerial expertise in the country and managed the most successful football
team in the world.
I am impressed by the way you have tried to use a range of punctuation in your writing Alfie. Well done!
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