Authors:
  • The sky was dark and gloomy, the air was damp and raw, the streets were wet and sloppy. The smoke hung sluggishly above the chimney-tops as if it lacked the courage to rise, and the rain came slowly and doggedly down, as if it had not even the spirit to pour.

    Charles Dickens (1838). “The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club”, p.347