File1, 2, & 3 for smoulton2:


"About half way between West Egg and New York the motor-road hastily
joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter mile, so as to shrink away
from a certain desolate area of land.  This is a valley of ashes - a fantastic
farm where ashes groq like wheat into ridges and hills and grotestque gardens
where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and
finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already
crumbling through the powdery air.  Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls
along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak and comes to rest, and
immediately the ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an
impenetrable cloud which screens their obscure operations from your sight.

But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift
endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of
Doctor T.J. Eckleburg.  The eyes of Doctor T.J. Eckleburg are blue and
gigantic - their retinas are one yard high.  They look out of no face but,
instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a
nonexistent nose.  Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to
fatten his practive in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into
eternal blindness or forgot them and moved away.  But his eyes, dimmed a little
by many paintless days under sun and rain, brood on over the solemn
dumping ground.

The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river,
and when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on waiting
trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an hour."

- "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald


"Frodo woke suddenly.  It was dark in the room.  Merry was standing there with
a candle in one hand, and banging on the door with the other.
'All right! What is it?' said Frodo, still shaken and bewildered.

'What is it!' cried Merry. 'It is time to get up.  It is half past four and
very foggy. Come on! Sam is already getting breakfast ready.  Even pippin
is up.  I am just going to saddle the ponies and fetch the one that is to be
the baggage carrier.  Wake that sluggard Fatty!  At least he must get up and
see us off.'

Soon after six o'clock the five hobbits were ready to start.  Fatty Bolger was
still yawning.  They stole quietly out of the house.  Merry went in front
leading a laden pony, and took his way along a path that went through a spinney
behind the house, and then cut across several fields.  The leaves of trees were
glistening, and every twig was dripping; the grass was grey with cold dew.
Every thing was still, and far-away noises seemed near and clear:
fowls chattering in a yard, someone closing a door of a distant house."

- "The Followship of the Ring" by J.R.R. Tolkien


No lines are longer than 80 characters, TYVM. Other specified properties aren't being scored automatically at this time so this is not necessarily good news...