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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Oct 22, 2012 10:26:41 GMT -5
English was not his forte.
It was to be expected, though. He was French and, most obviously, he hated all things English. That's what happened when you grew up next to one of the so-called "greatest" countries in the world, the country everyone loved. France? Nope, that was the place where cowards went. Francis sighed over his English book, the strange homonyms and saying mixing together before his eyes. Hell, even math was easier than this.
The question lay in his mind- why in the world did he need to know more English? He spoke it well enough, having learned it at a rather young age. He had always believed it to be a stupid language, and now that he was forced to go more in depth with it and stop relying on his basic, elementary teachings, he realized just how difficult of a language it truly was.
"Bless the poor fools trying to learn it at my age," he mumbled irritably, allowing his forehead to rest on one of the crisp, white pages of his open book. |
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