February 19th
Writing ExerCises
I'll - I will
he'll - he will
Notes: Must remember punctuash punctuation. Punctuation. Comma, period. Comma, period.
I told Abbé I want to write poems now because of his book and he's very glad.
Marquis says that poems are a waste of time and that I should worry more about getting his work published. Sometimes he can be such a misery. As I was taking the new papers from him today, and I saw that amber ring of his shoot out from inside his cell and that little spider that looked like it would pop out any moment I couldn't help but remember the first time I'd saw him.
Well, I don't actually remember the first time I saw him since I was only a baby. My dad had just passed and my mum wasn't blind yet. She was taking me for a little fresh air when a coach had pulled up. In it were some policemen and the Marquis. He'd been transferred from the Bastille after causing some sort of riot.
My mum told me it was 1789 and the old Abbé Fernandes and some policeman were bringing him into a grotty old cell near the end of the hall. He was a strange looking man, that's for sure. And I remember Mum saying that there was something not quite right with his eyes that first day. They were too bright. He was smiling a queer little smile, and it turned rather vicious when he suddenly saw me cowering in me mum's arms.
"Delightful little thing," he whispered to her as he passed us. "Beautiful eyes."
My mum didn't say anything, but she hugged me tighter than ever and rushed back to the laundry room. She wasn't blind yet then, and she was a quick little thing. She made sure she never had to collect his wash.
He only stayed not even a year before he was released. He got brought back in 1803 and when I got older and started collecting the Marquis linens, my mum told me to be specially careful of him, and of how he'd looked at me that first day;
"He looked as if he wanted to gobble you up."
