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As the bruised and sullen sun struggled through the untidy strands of morning mist, the dismal little train chugged its way across the flat, waterlogged landscape, its black smoke trailing off into the indifferent air, while inside, the passengers sat silent and introspective, not yet ready to face the realities of their destinations. - "Waterland" by Graham Swift.

The small boys came early to the hanging, their parents bringing them to witness the event, each child hoisted onto shoulders for a better view, the square filled with the sound of their chatter and the shuffle of feet, all awaiting the moment of justice in the sharp chill of dawn. - "Pillars of the Earth" by Ken Follett.

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, and the highwayman came riding—riding—riding—The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn- door. - "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes.