Head Hopping: What not to do.
“It’s spelt grey,” said Bertha, slamming her fist down on the restaurant table. “G-R-E-Y.” How was Barnaby dense enough to believe otherwise?
Barnaby looked into Bertha’s beady, unintelligent eyes and seethed. “No, it’s spelled gray. G-R-A-Y.” He felt ready to up and leave her sitting there at the diner.
Close-Third Person: What you can do.
“It’s spelt grey,” said Bertha, slamming her fist down on the table. “G-R-E-Y.” Barnaby was such an uncultured idiot. Why was she even hanging out with him?
Omniscient: What you can also do.
“It’s spelt grey,” said Bertha. “G-R-E-Y.”
She couldn’t wrap her head around how stupid Barnaby was, and he felt the same.
Standing from the table, Barnaby slammed the cash for his meal onto the table. “That’s it; I can’t stand your pretentious spelling habits another moment. I’m going to the theater alone.” He felt…
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