For a week at Santa Marinella, maritime city north of Rome and ancient Roman port. Today, later in the afternoon, I greatly enjoyed the refreshing breeze from the Mediterranean Sea. Despite the glare associated with the incredible phenomenon called “sun”, I suffered under the yellow light and—practically blind—wrote a staggering one thousand six hundred words. Lately, for several reasons, I haven’t been prolific, so I’m feeling quite proud of my hard work.
From TCOM, here’s snippet number eleven:
Madame Lana’s fingers came dangerously close to Marie’s moving lips, but thankfully stopped before making contact. Marie had inadvertently stepped back to avoid being touched by the rector’s cold hand and now realized she had probably offended her. Something flickered behind the woman’s eyes, something as cold as her skin. “Finish what you’re doing and go upstairs.” She barked several orders and then left the kitchen followed by two unlucky girls who were culpable of having poured one teaspoon of sugar too many in her coffee.
The chef smiled a sad smile Marie’s way and she shivered. Chef had just treated the two crying girls with the same show of affection. “I’m going to train as a nurse,” Marie said out loud to test how the idea sounded once worded.