"
Before going further let us take a survey at Nicholas Sharpley,
Esq., Attorney-at-Law, as he sits with his right arm resting on
the desk and his left supporting his very important head. He is
about thirty-five years of age, or perhaps less. His face is long
and his chin sharp, so that his name is no misnomer. A pair of
glittering, steel-like eyes, play a prominent part in the
expression of his face. A sinister smile plays hide-and-seek
around the thin, pale lips, while the movement betray a
flexibility of mind that is not nattering to the possessor.
There is about the man a striking combination of Uriah Heap and
Mr. Pecksniff; which, to an honest-minded man, rendered him
intolerable.
But Nicholas Sharpley had his followers, and thrived and shone
bright among the legal luminaries, and was always ready to do the
most unprincipled jobs to be met with.
A cunning leer passed over the greyish countenance as the dazzling
vision protruded itself before Mr. Sharpley. He drew his fingers
convulsively through the mass of bristling hair (which might be
designated by that color known as iron grey), and then suppressing
a yawn, muttered: "It's worth the trying.
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