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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Mark Twain

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Practice and improve your writing style below

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The words were caught up and carried eagerly from lip to lip far and wide over the hall, and as Hertford hurried from the presence, another prodigious shout burst forth—

 

His spirits sank lower and lower as he moved between the glittering files of bowing courtiers; for he recognised that he was indeed a captive now, and might remain for ever shut up in this gilded cage, a forlorn and friendless prince, except God in his mercy take pity on him and set him free.

 

Hugo had seen enough—his enemy was captured and the law would get him, now—so he slipped away, jubilant and chuckling, and wended campwards, framing a judicious version of the matter to give to the Ruffler’s crew as he strode along.

 

The morning after that combat, Hugo got up with a heart filled with vengeful purposes against the King.  He had two plans, in particular. One was to inflict upon the lad what would be, to his proud spirit and ‘imagined’ royalty, a peculiar humiliation; and if he failed to accomplish this, his other plan was to put a crime of some kind upon the King, and then betray him into the implacable clutches of the law.

 

“Let him bless God an’ he fare no worse.  An’ I had the handling o’ the villain he should roast, or I am no true man!”

 

So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a different kind. She was gentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty.

 

After midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or three hours the shores was black—no more sparks in the cabin windows. These sparks was our clock—the first one that showed again meant morning was coming, so we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away.

 

Tom rose square up in bed, with his eye hot, and his nostrils opening and shutting like gills, and sings out to me:

 

“Why, the whole thing. There ain’t but one; how we set the runaway nigger free—me and Tom.”

 

I says to myself, this is another one that I’m letting him rob her of her money. And when she got through they all jest laid theirselves out to make me feel at home and know I was amongst friends. I felt so ornery and low down and mean that I says to myself, my mind’s made up; I’ll hive that money for them or bust.

 

“Why, I just wouldn’t stand it. I’d run away.”

 

“All right, I will. All you got to do is to trot up Hooper Street a block and maow—and if I’m asleep, you throw some gravel at the window and that’ll fetch me.”

 

Huck would not explain, further than to say that he already knew too much about one of those men and would not have the man know that he knew anything against him for the whole world—he would be killed for knowing it, sure.

 

“Then how you going to know which one to go for?”

 

“Aunt Polly, it seemed mortified, and it hurt so I never minded my tooth at all.”

 

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