Classics Retold

I pass over all that happened at school, until the anniversary of my birthday came round in March.  Except that Steerforth was more to be admired than ever, I remember nothing.  He was going away at the end of the half year, if not sooner, and was more spirited and independent than before, more engaging than before, but beyond this I remember nothing.  The great remembrance by which that time is marked in my mind seems to have erased all lesser recollections, and exist alone. There was a gap of two months between my return to Salem House and the arrival of my birthday.  I can only understand that the fact was so, because I know it must have been so; otherwise I should feel convinced that there was no interval, and the one occasion trod upon the other's heel. How well I recollect the kind of day it was!  I smell the fog that hung about the place.  I see the hoar frost, ghostly through it.  I feel my rimy hair fall clammy on my cheek.  I look along ...