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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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I did not feel the first trout strike. When I started to pull up I felt that I had one and brought him, fighting and bending the rod almost double, out of the boiling water at the foot of the falls, and swung him up and onto the dam. He was a good trout, and I banged his head against the timber so that he quivered out straight, and then slipped him into my bag.

 

“Come on. Let’s go over to the Iruña and start,” I said.

 

“You’re in the pay of the Anti-Saloon League.”

 

The count reached down and twirled the bottles in the shiny bucket. “It isn’t cold, yet. You’re always drinking, my dear. Why don’t you just talk?”

 

“Maybe he thought that would make him Lord Ashley.”

 

But I must get him close, close, close, he thought. I mustn't try for the head. I must get the heart.

 

"Yes. I have yesterday's paper and I will read the baseball."

 

But he was that big and at the end of this circle he came to the surface only thirty yards away and the man saw his tail out of water. It was higher than a big scythe blade and a very pale lavender above the dark blue water. It raked back and as the fish swam just below the surface the old man could see his huge bulk and the purple stripes that banded him. His dorsal fin was down and his huge pectorals were spread wide.

 

"Something hurt him then," he said aloud and pulled back on the line to see if he could turn the fish. But when he was touching the breaking point he held steady and settled back against the strain of the line.

 

Inside the shack he leaned the mast against the wall. In the dark he found a water bottle and took a drink. Then he lay down on the bed. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and then over his back and legs and he slept face down on the newspapers with his arms out straight and the palms of his hands up.

 

'There isn't a contour here as far as you can see.'

 

'He condescends to me. He speaks bad Italian assiduously. He goes everywhere in Baedeker, and he has no taste in either food or wine. The woman is nice. I believe she is his aunt. But I have no real information.'

 

'No. I agree. We will devote ourselves to the cheese.'

 

'It was like ski-ing in the dark. Not really ski-ing but really dark.'

 

'If it's guided missiles,' the Colonel said. 'Better make it two hundred and fifty miles. Better give that cyclist some horn.'

 

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