Bea sat at the kitchen table

[Bassim]

I wrote this text as an exercise. Would you please correct the mistakes?

Bea sat at the kitchen table, her eyes red and swollen, and her face mascara-streaked. Her hands clasped a coffee cup.
"You can't leave me. You can't do that to me," she said in a strangled voice.

Mark stood above her, showing no emotions. "You gave me no choice," he said. "I've forgiven you the first time. You promised never to see that scoundrel again."

"I made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes."

"I treated you like a queen. You never lacked anything. Look around you and see the home you live in. Many would give an arm and an leg for such luxury, and you got it served on a plate."
Bea looked up and let out a few sobs. "I lost my head. I didn't want to hurt you. My passion got the better of me."

"You knew Tom is a scumbag. He never had a proper job in his life. He lives off wealthy women who pay him for a few hours of tenderness. How much did you pay him?"

Bea let out a cry. "I can't remember. It must be thousands."

"Thousands of my hard-earned money. I must be an idiot. I'm buying my wife a Gucci bag that costs hundreds of pounds, and the next day she goes out to meet her lover."
"It's not the bag I needed," she shouted. "You don't see me as a woman any more. You don't even kiss me as before."

"It may be true, but I don't go to other women. I work like crazy to give you and our children a comfortable life. But what I get instead? An ungrateful wife, who, as soon as she gets horny, runs to a scumbag."

Bea felt hatred boiling in her veins. Mark's smooth shaved face and the smell of his after shave disgusted her. He combed his hair forward to hide his balding hair. What a pathetic person he was. She saw a large kitchen knife on the worktop. As Mark went out into the hall to put on his coat before going out into the cold morning, Bea grabbed the knife and crept behind him.
THE END

 

[teechar]

Bea sat at the kitchen table, her eyes red and swollen, and her face mascara-streaked. Her hands clasped a [STRIKE]coffee[/STRIKE] cup of coffee.
"You can't leave me. You can't do that to me," she said in a strangled voice.

Mark stood above her, showing no emotions. "You gave me no choice," he said. "I forgave [STRIKE]'ve forgiven[/STRIKE] you the first time. You promised never to see that scoundrel again."

"I made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes."

"I treated you like a queen. You never lacked anything. Look around you and see the home you live in. Many would [STRIKE]give an arm and an leg for[/STRIKE] only dream of such luxury, and you got it served on a plate."
Bea looked up and let out a few sobs. "I lost my head. I didn't want to hurt you. My passion got the better of me."

"You knew Tom is a scumbag. He never had a proper job in his life. He lives off wealthy women who pay him for a few hours of tenderness. How much did you pay him?"

Bea let out a cry. "I can't remember. It must be thousands."

"Thousands of my hard-earned money. I must be an idiot. [STRIKE]I'm buying[/STRIKE] I buy my wife a Gucci bag that costs hundreds of pounds, and the next day she goes out to meet her lover."
"It's not the bag I needed," she shouted. "You don't see me as a woman any more. You don't even kiss me as before."

"It may be true, but at least I don't go to other women. I work like crazy to give you and our children a comfortable life. But what do I get in return? [STRIKE]stead?[/STRIKE] An ungrateful wife, who, as soon as she gets horny, runs off to a scumbag."

Bea felt hatred boiling in her veins. Mark's smooth shaved face and the smell of his aftershave disgusted her. He combed his hair forward to hide his balding head. [STRIKE]hair.[/STRIKE] What a pathetic person he was. She saw a large kitchen knife on the worktop. As Mark went out into the hall to put on his coat before going out into the cold morning, Bea grabbed the knife and crept behind him.
THE END

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