The thirty-first of January was a wild, tempestuous day. Well, so wrote Agnes Grey. Actually, it wasn’t Agnes Grey at all; it was Anne Brontë in her novel Agnes Grey.
The thirty-first of January was a wild, tempestuous day. Yeah, right. I suppose next they’ll be saying it was a dark and stormy night.
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets. Well, so said Paul Clifford. Actually, it wasn’t Paul Clifford at all; it was Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, aka The Lord Lytton, in his novel Paul Clifford.
Anne Brontë and Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton's treatment of the weather is utterly irresponsible. I wouldn't be surprised if those two were the ones responsible for all this bad bloody weather we've been having.