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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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'Give me the gun,' Fontan said. He explained again to me. 'They're savages. They would shoot one another. 5

 

'You talk like an old man yourself. He can buy a bottle and drink at home. 5

 

'She's just a spitfire,' the man said. 'A regular little spitfire.'

 

He looked at her face between him and the fire. She was leaning back in the chair and the firelight shone on her pleasantly lined face and he could see that she was sleepy. He heard the hyena make a noise just outside the range of the fire.

 

address in the Calle San Jeronimo was good, the food was excellent and the room and board was cheap. It is necessary for a bull fighter to give the appearance, if not of prosperity, at least of respectability, since decorum and dignity rank above courage as the virtues most highly prized in Spain, and bull fighters "stayed at the Luarca until their last pesetas were gone. There is no record of any bull fighter having left the Luarca for a better or more expensive hotel; second-rate bull fighters never became first rate; but the descent from the Luarca was swift since anyone could stay there who was making anything at all and a bill was never presented to a guest unasked until the woman who ran the place knew that the case was hopeless.

 

'Good fliers are very good and should be respected as such,' the Colonel said.

 

'This is the place where the German shot the pigeons,' the girl said.

 

'Will we see them when we make the long trip and stop at all the filling stations or comfort stations or whatever they are called?'

 

They had not spoken for a long time and the Colonel had noted that the gondola had only inches free in passing under the last bridge.

 

'Ask her to have a drink with us here before you carry her off to that corner table. Isn't she a lovely girl?'

 

“You don’t know Frances. Any girl at all. Didn’t you see the way she looked?”

 

“Don’t talk to him,” Brett said. “Mike must have been in bad shape,” she said on the stairs. We passed Montoya on the stairs. He bowed and did not smile.

 

“It’s funny,” I said. “It’s very funny. And it’s a lot of fun, too, to be in love.”

 

“You’re a splendid one to talk about manners,” Brett said. “You’ve such lovely manners.”

 

We went in through the heavy leather door that moved very lightly. It was dark inside. Many people were praying. You saw them as your eyes adjusted themselves to the half-light. We knelt at one of the long wooden benches. After a little I felt Brett stiffen beside me, and saw she was looking straight ahead.

 

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