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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Mark Twain

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“No,” said the juggler; “no one can do that.”

 

“Oh, my God!” that poor mother cried out, and fell on her knees, and put her arms about her dead boy and began to cover the wet face with kisses. “Oh, it was I that sent him, and I have been his death. If I had obeyed, and kept him in the house, this would not have happened. And I am rightly punished; I was cruel to him last night, and him begging me, his own mother, to be his friend.”

 

On my road home I came upon Satan, and reproached him with deceiving me with that lie. He was not embarrassed, but said, quite simply and composedly:

 

Ursula's eyes snapped with anger. “Because I know it!” she said. “Not a sparrow falls to the ground without His seeing it.”

 

Ursula was impressed. “It is the most wonderful thing!” Then a shadow of trouble came into her face, for her superstitions were aroused, and she reluctantly put the creature down, saying: “I suppose I must let it go; I am not afraid—no, not exactly that, though the priest—well, I've heard people—indeed, many people... And, besides, it is quite well now and can take care of itself.” She sighed, and turned to go, murmuring: “It is such a pretty one, too, and would be such company—and the house is so sad and lonesome these troubled days... Miss Marget so mournful and just a shadow, and the old master shut up in jail.”

 

“I don’t know—leave it here as we’ve always done, I reckon. No use to take it away till we start south. Six hundred and fifty in silver’s something to carry.”

 

“If we can only get to the old tannery before we break down!” whispered Tom, in short catches between breaths. “I can’t stand it much longer.”

 

“I’m glad you’ve slept, Becky; you’ll feel rested, now, and we’ll find the way out.”

 

“Well, so’d I; but I’d like to see him, anyway—and track him out—to his Number Two.”

 

“Now less fetch the guns and things,” said Huck.

 

“Strip this robber of his false show and stolen estates, and put him under lock and key till I have need of him.”

 

Tom hesitated, looked distressed, and was about to stammer out something at hazard, when Lord St. John took the word and answered for him with the easy grace of a courtier accustomed to encounter delicate difficulties and to be ready for them—

 

The justice maintained his judicial composure, and simply said—

 

‘Bien Darkman’s then, Bouse Mort and Ken, The bien Coves bings awast, On Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine For his long lib at last. Bing’d out bien Morts and toure, and toure, Bing out of the Rome vile bine, And toure the Cove that cloy’d your duds, Upon the Chates to trine.‘ (From’The English Rogue.’ London, 1665.)

 

When the King awoke in the morning, the women were gone.

 

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