Three: Great Expectations: Charles Dickens
It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen it lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night and use the window for a poket-handkerchief. Now I saw the damp lying on the bare hedges and grass like spider's webs, hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade. On every rail and gate, wet lay clammy, and the marsh mist was thick, and the wooden finger on the post directing to our village. I saw it when I came close to it. It dripped and seemed to me like a phantom directing me to the Hulks. The mist was heavier when I got upon the marshes. Instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me. The gates, the dykes, and the banks came bursting at me through the mist, and it seemed to me that they cried at me, "A boy with somebody else's pork pie! Stop him!" The cattle came staring at me. They steamed out their nostrils, "Halloa thi...