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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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“That’s not ironical. I wish I could talk Spanish.”

 

We crossed the Boulevard Montparnasse and sat down at a table. A boy came up with the Paris Times, and I bought one and opened it.

 

“What rotten luck for me. We’ve had a jolly time here at Burguete.”

 

“No, I don’t want one. If they won’t take a fly I’ll just flick it around.”

 

“Probably he owes them money” I said. “That’s what people usually get bitter about.”

 

Chapter XXXI 'Listen, Daughter,' the Colonel said. 'Now we will cut out all references to glamour and to high brass, even from Kansas, where the brass grows higher than osage-orange trees along your own road. It bears a fruit you can't eat and it is purely Kansan. Nobody but Kansans ever had anything to do with it; except maybe us who fought. We ate them every day. Osage oranges,' he added. 'Only we called them K Rations. They weren't bad. C Rations were bad. Ten in ones were good.

 

'I knew there must be a lesson in it, sir,' the driver said.

 

At the landing place, where Jackson was handing the luggage to a porter and looking after the portrait himself, the Colonel said, 'Do you want to say good-bye here?'

 

'I don't have that. Your mediums smacked our house in Treviso.'

 

'Wherever that is,' said the Colonel seriously. 'And I know damn well where it is.'

 

'You are beside yourself. I do not notice your insults. You are crazy.'

 

He started up the track. It was well ballasted and made easy walking, sand and gravel packed between the ties, solid walking. The smooth roadbed like a- causeway went on ahead through the swamp. Nick walked along. He must get to somewhere.

 

Manuel stood up and, the muleta in his left hand, the sword in his right, acknowledged the applause from the dark plaza.

 

Ad kept on looking at Nick. He had his cap down over his eyes. Nick felt nervous.

 

'Let me do it,' I said. 'It's right here in the cash box.'

 

 

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