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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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CHAPTER 19 In the morning it was all over. The fiesta was finished. I woke about nine o’clock, had a bath, dressed, and went down-stairs. The square was empty and there were no people on the streets. A few children were picking up rocket-sticks in the square. The cafés were just opening and the waiters were carrying out the comfortable white wicker chairs and arranging them around the marble-topped tables in the shade of the arcade. They were sweeping the streets and sprinkling them with a hose.

 

“No. Just don’t let him know I talked to you. I know what he wants.” Now for the first time she dropped her bright, terribly cheerful manner. “He wants to go back to New York alone, and be there when his book comes out so when a lot of little chickens like it. That’s what he wants.”

 

“Did you hear that, Henry?” Mrs. Braddocks called down the table to Braddocks. “Mr. Barnes introduced his fiancée as Mademoiselle Leblanc, and her name is actually Hobin.”

 

“I misjudged you,” Harvey said. “You’re not a moron. You’re only a case of arrested development.”

 

“I am not going to listen to that sort of rot from you, Michael.”

 

He watched a gondola working up the Canal against the wind and thought, not with Americans drinking. I know they are bored. In this town, too. They are bored in this town. I know the place is cold and their wages are inadequate and what fuel costs. I admire their wives, for the valiant efforts they make to transport Keokuk to Venice, and their children already speak Italian like little Venetians. But no snapshots to-day, Jack. To-day we are giving the snapshots, the bar-room confidences, the unwanted comradely drinks and the tedious woes of the Consular services a miss.

 

Chapter XXXVIII They ate lunch at the Gritti and the girl had unwrapped the small ebony negro's head and torso and pinned it high on her left shoulder. It was about three inches long and was quite lovely to look at if you liked that sort of thing. And if you don't you are stupid, the Colonel thought.

 

'But was there nothing noble or truly happy about it?'

 

'That's lovely,' she said, and repeated it in a voice she had learned from Ida Lupino. 'Can I say it to the Gran Maestro?'

 

'Can you manoeuvre?' he asked the portrait. 'Good and fast?'

 

'No. No. No!' said the doctor, who was busy. 'What's the matter? Are you afraid of him?'

 

'He says he's missed a lot himself, 5 Nick confessed.

 

'No. l{ would be too expensive. Besides, I have never married.'

 

We'd sit at the Cafe de la Paix, my old man and me, and we had a big drag with the waiter because my old man drank whisky and it cost five francs, and that meant a good tip when the saucers were counted up. My old man was drinking more than I'd ever seen him, but he wasn't riding at all now and besides he said that whisky kept his weight down. But I noticed he was putting it on, all right, just the same. He'd busted away from his old gang out at Maisons and seemed to like just sitting around on the boulevard with me. But he was dropping money every day at the track. He'd feel sort of doleful after the last race, if he'd lost on the day, until we'd get to our table and he'd have his first whisky and then he'd be fine.

 

The big thing was that Marjorie was gone and that probably he would never see her again. He had talked to her about how they would go to Italy together and the fun they would have. Places they would be together. It was all gone now.

 

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