And now I've even done some proper writing for today -- about 600 more words!
Day 3 (http://having-written.livejournal.com/23197.html#cutid3) even takes off where day 2 left me hanging, storywise. Excerpt here:
Among the scenes from the Nativity in the church and the oil-lamps for Nochebuena in the windows, it was so easy to pretend that there was no war going on in the darkness; that the child’s wet, downy hair was her mother’s rich, dark brown instead of an unfamiliar blonde; that Teresa might be a respectable widow or an officer’s wife waiting for her husband to return on furlough and cradle his first-born in his arms.
Antonia was barely three weeks old, however, when Doña Agnes caught her niece showing off the sleeping girl at a New Year’s dinner in an afrancesado’s drawing-room. She had scarcely recognized Teresa’s demeanour on that evening. Partly demure, partly sly, she smiled at the enemy officers in an afrancesada’s drawing-room; she was acting for all the world as though she’d lost her honour to some English brute and was practically begging for the next best handsome sous-lieutenant to throw some money after her and her poor, fatherless child.
no subject
Day 3 (http://having-written.livejournal.com/23197.html#cutid3) even takes off where day 2 left me hanging, storywise. Excerpt here:
Among the scenes from the Nativity in the church and the oil-lamps for Nochebuena in the windows, it was so easy to pretend that there was no war going on in the darkness; that the child’s wet, downy hair was her mother’s rich, dark brown instead of an unfamiliar blonde; that Teresa might be a respectable widow or an officer’s wife waiting for her husband to return on furlough and cradle his first-born in his arms.
Antonia was barely three weeks old, however, when Doña Agnes caught her niece showing off the sleeping girl at a New Year’s dinner in an afrancesado’s drawing-room. She had scarcely recognized Teresa’s demeanour on that evening. Partly demure, partly sly, she smiled at the enemy officers in an afrancesada’s drawing-room; she was acting for all the world as though she’d lost her honour to some English brute and was practically begging for the next best handsome sous-lieutenant to throw some money after her and her poor, fatherless child.