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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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The two sharks closed together and as he saw the one nearest him open his jaws and sink them into the silver side of the fish, he raised the club high and brought it down heavy and slamming onto the top of the shark's broad head. He felt the rubbery solidity as the club came down. But he felt the rigidity of bone too and he struck the shark once more hard across the point of the nose as he slid down from the fish.

 

He had pushed his straw hat hard down on his head before he hooked the fish and it was cutting his forehead. He was thirsty too and he got down on his knees and, being careful not to jerk on the line, moved as far into the bow as he could get and reached the water bottle with one hand. He opened it and drank a little. Then he rested against the bow. He rested sitting on the un-stepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only to endure.

 

"It was papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him."

 

"He is tiring or he is resting," the old man said. "Now let me get through the eating of this dolphin and get some rest and a little sleep."

 

"It could not happen twice. Do you think you can find an eighty-five?"

 

'Thanks, yes,' Macomber said. He expected the feeling he had had about the lion to come back but it did not. For«the first time in his life he really felt wholly without feajr. Instead of fear he had a feeling of definite elation.

 

'Wouldn't ordinarily/ Wilson said. 'Seemed sporting

 

'I come right back.' Andre went out the door. The night was cooling outside. He left the door open and a cool breeze came in.

 

'God has some work for every one to do/ his mother said. 'There can be no idle hands in His Kingdom.'

 

c ln the morning if you like/ Wilson told him. Perhaps he had been wrong. This was certainly the way to take it. /ou most certainly could not tell a damned thing about an American. He was all for Macomber again. If you could forget the morning. But, of course, you couldn't. The morning had been about as bad as they come.

 

So, the Colonel thought, here we come into the last round and I do not know even the number of the round. I have loved but three women and have lost them thrice.

 

'I'm glad we don't have to know him or the nylon-smooth man,' the girl said.

 

Why should it always move your heart to see a sail moving along through the country, the Colonel thought. Why does it move my heart to see the great, slow, pale oxen? It must be the gait as well as the look of them and the size and the colour.

 

And she gave me her love, some hard stones, which I returned, and the picture. Well, I can always give her back the picture. I could give her my ring from V.M.I., he thought, but where the hell did I lose that?

 

'You poor old son of a bitch,' the surgeon said. 'Colonel, sir,' he added.

 

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