He was bold, you could tell, not by the way he walked, talked, or even by the way he shouted at the peasants below him, but by what he was wearing. A dark, long black cloak that caught in the wind as he strutted past his enemies as they bowed before him, black goggles you could not see his eyes through, wild white locks, and shiny black boots that glistened as they caught the slivers of light shining through the night. He was incredible. He stretched out his hand to grab the powerful wand, not yet touching it, when I noticed a gaping scar on his left hand. I was so in awe that I could not stand. Would this be the end of life as we know it?
I hope this helps, this was taken from one of the stories I am currently writing. :)
Have a wonderful day!
<span>believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge.</span>
Answer:
D a cheerful attfrwed recovery
