From: my walk

The sun, if I may give that name to a light so stripped of warmth, so pale and abstract that it seemed more a passing and careless allusion to the possibility of light than its manifestation, played fitfully in the upper reaches of the cloud bank that hung overhead. There, through threadbare patches in the counterpane of gray that hung over the landscape, I could see its invalid fingers despondently toying with those vaporous growths and monstrous births. (9)

The language changes with each of the narrators.