The summaries are: 1. The passage introduces Pip, the narrator of Great Expectations, and describes how he came to be called Pip. It provides background on Pip's family and the marsh country where he lives. 2. The passage describes an altercation between Lennie and Curley in Of Mice and Men, where Lennie accidentally crushes Curley's hand in a fight. 3. The passage describes Frankenstein bringing his creature to life and then being overcome with horror and disgust at what he has created.

1. Excerpt #1: Chapter 1 - Great Expectations (1861) by Charles Dickens.
My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of
both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.
I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister - Mrs. Joe
Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any
likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies
regarding what they were like, were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the
letters on my father's, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair.
From the character and turn of the inscription, "Also Georgiana Wife of the Above," I drew a childish
conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and
a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of
five little brothers of mine - who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal
struggle - I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs
with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.
Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My
first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things, seems to me to have been gained on a
memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain, that this bleak place
overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana
wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and
Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness
beyond the churchyard, intersected with dykes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on
it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond, was the river; and that the distant savage lair
from which the wind was rushing, was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it
all and beginning to cry, was Pip.
"Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the
church porch. "Keep still, you little devil, or I'll cut your throat!"
A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes,
and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud,
and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and
shivered, and glared and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.
"O! Don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it, sir."
"Tell us your name!" said the man. "Quick!"
"Pip, sir."
"Once more," said the man, staring at me. "Give it mouth!"
"Pip. Pip, sir."
"Show us where you live," said the man. "Pint out the place!"
I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the alder-trees and pollards, a mile or
more from the church.

2. Excerpt #2: Chapter 3 – Of Mice and Men (1962) by Charles Dickens.
Curley stepped over to Lennie like a terrier. ‘What the hell you laughin’ at?’
Lennie looked blankly at him. ‘Huh?’
Then Curley’s rage exploded. ‘Come on, ya big bastard. Get up on your feet. No big son-of-a-bitch is
gonna laugh at me. I’ll show you who’s yella.’
Lennie looked helplessly at George, and then he got up and tried to retreat. Curley was balanced and
poised. He slashed at Lennie with his left, and then smashed down his nose with a right. Lennie gave
a cry of terror. Blood welled from his nose. ‘George,’ he cried. ‘Make ‘um let me alone, George.’ He
backed until he was against the wall, and Curley followed, slugging him in the face. Lennie’s hands
remained at his sides; he was too frightened to defend himself.
George was on his feet yelling, ‘Get him, Lennie. Don’t let him do it.’
Lennie covered his face with his huge paws and bleated with terror. He cried, ‘Make ‘um stop, George.’
Then Curley attacked his stomach and cut off his wind.
Slim jumped up. ‘The dirty little rat,’ he cried, ‘I’ll get ‘um myself.’
George put out his hand and grabbed Slim. ‘Wait a minute,’ he shouted. He cupped his hands around
his mouth and yelled, ‘Get ‘im, Lennie!’
Lennie took his hands away from his face and looked about for George, and Curley slashed at his eyes.
The big face was covered with blood. George yelled again, ‘I said get him.’
Curley’s fist was swinging when Lennie reached for it. The next minute Curley was flopping like a fish
on a line, and his closed fist was lost in Lennie’s big hand. George ran down the room. ‘Leggo of him,
Lennie. Let go.’
But Lennie watched in terror the flopping little man whom he held. Blood ran down Lennie’s face, one
of his eyes was cut and closed. George slapped him on the face again and again, and still Lennie held
on to the closed fist. Curley was white and shrunken by now, and his struggling had become weak. He
stood crying, his fist lost in Lennie’s paw.
George shouted over and over, ‘Leggo his hand, Lennie, Leggo. Slim, come help me while the guy got
any hand left.’
Suddenly Lennie let go his hold. He crouched cowering against the wall. ‘You tol’ me to, George,’ he
said miserably.
Curley sat down on the floor, looking in wonder at his crushed hand. Slim and Carlson bent over him.
Slim straightened up and regarded Lennie with horror. ‘We got to get him in to a doctor,’ he said.
‘Looks to me like ever’ bone in his han’ is bust.’
‘I didn’t wanta,’ Lennie cried. ‘I didn’t wanta hurt him.’

3. Excerpt #3: Chapter 5 – Frankenstein (1818) by Mary Shelley.
It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that
almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of
being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered
dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-
extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive
motion agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such
infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his
features as beautiful. Beautiful! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and
arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these
luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same
colour as the dun-white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black
lips.
The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard
for nearly two years, for the sole purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived
myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I
had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.
Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long
time traversing my bedchamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to
the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a
few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest
dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted
and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the
hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother
in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the
flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and
every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way
through the window shutters, I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had created. He held
up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened,
and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but
I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped and rushed
downstairs. I took refuge in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained
during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching
and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had
so miserably given life.
Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again endued with animation
could not be so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but
when those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing such as even Dante
could not have conceived.

4. Excerpt #4: Chapter 8 – Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (1818) by J.K. Rowling.
Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower
beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Oliver
Wood's enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Harry
was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to
Gryffindor Tower, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud.
Even aside from the rain and wind it hadn't been a happy practice session. Fred and George, who had
been spying on the Slytherin team, had seen for themselves the speed of those new Nimbus Two
Thousand and Ones. They reported that the Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs,
shooting through the air like missiles.
As Harry squelched along the deserted corridor he came across somebody who looked just as
preoccupied as he was. Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out
of a window, muttering under his breath, ". . . don't fulfill their requirements . . . half an inch, if that..."
"Hello, Nick," said Harry.
"Hello, hello," said Nearly Headless Nick, starting and looking round. He wore a dashing, plumed hat on
his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely
severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential
rain outside.
"You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it
inside his doublet.
"So do you," said Harry.
"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance. . . . It's not as though I
really wanted to join. . . . Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' -"
In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that
getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"
"Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.
"I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off
properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However -" Nearly Headless
Nick shook his letter open and read furiously: "'We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have
parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for
members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the
greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best
wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.'"
Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away.
"Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that's good and
beheaded, but oh, no, it's not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore."
Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, "So - what's
bothering you? Anything I can do?"

5. Excerpt #5: The Raven (1845) by Edgar Allan Poe.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.