Priest

It was a warm summer day. Nothing unusual. Children were running around outside, people were rushing about, cats were basking in the sun. William Linar, the priest, was currently wiping down the altar where he reads prayers to the parishioners. It was Sunday, so there were a lot of people there. Which couldn't help but please the priest. Warm rays of sunlight filtered through the tall, long, mosaic windows, warming the room.
From early morning until late evening, a well-groomed man, apparently 30-35 years old, sat in the hall. He wore a classic suit but seemed unaffected by the heat. He listened to every prayer, sometimes grimacing for reasons the priest couldn't understand. He didn't venture outside, only occasionally exercising his hands and accepting and signing papers from people hurrying in and out.
By evening, the crowd had grown, and the man William had been unconsciously watching stood up to give up his seat to some old woman. From the outside, he seemed like a gentleman. But there was something strange about him that the priest couldn't understand.

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