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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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“No. It wasn’t that. He really wanted to marry me. So I couldn’t go away from him, he said. He wanted to make it sure I could never go away from him. After I’d gotten more womanly, of course.”

 

I offered the guard a cigarette. He took it and thanked me.

 

“Here’s how. I rather think so, you know. Deserves to be, anyhow. Knows hell’s own amount about people. Don’t know where he got it all. Owns a chain of sweetshops in the States.”

 

We found the big leather wine-bottle leaning against the wall in my room, took it and the field-glasses, locked the door, and went down-stairs.

 

In the evening was the paseo. For an hour after dinner every one, all the good-looking girls, the officers from the garrison, all the fashionable people of the town, walked in the street on one side of the square while the café tables filled with the regular after-dinner crowd.

 

'Why? Because I told you that you looked like Marie Antoinette in the tumbril?'

 

'Can't you run an elevator properly?' the Colonel asked.

 

'Yes. I guess I imagine that too. The eggs fried with their faces up. Tea and toast.'

 

'And the cavaliere ufficiale who manages this place?' he asked. 'My friend?'

 

'Tell me, my Colonel, what do you really think about Tito?'

 

Back in the bow he laid the two fillets of fish out on the wood with the flying fish beside them. After that he settled the line across his shoulders in a new place and held it again with his left hand resting on the gunwale. Then he leaned over the side and washed the flying fish in the water, noting the speed of the water against his hand. His hand was phosphorescent from skinning the fish and he watched the flow of the water against it. The flow was less strong and as he rubbed the side of his hand against the planking of the skiff, particles of phosphorus floated off and drifted slowly astern.

 

"Damn my fish," the boy said and he started to cry again.

 

He picked up a piece and put it in his mouth and chewed it slowly. It was not unpleasant.

 

"How do you feel, fish?" he asked aloud. "I feel good and my left hand is better and I have food for a night and a day. Pull the boat, fish."

 

THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA ACROSS THE RIVER AND INTO THE TREES FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS THE FIFTH COLUMN AND THE FIRST FORTY-NINE STORIES TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT GREEN HILLS OF AFRICA WINNER TAKE NOTHING DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON A FAREWELL TO ARMS MEN WITHOUT WOMEN THE SUN ALSO RISES THE TORRENTS OF SPRING IN OUR TIME

 

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