My next pet was a pigeon, the most revolting bird to look at, with
his feathers pushing through the
wrinkled scarlet skin, mixed with
the horrible yellow down that covers
baby pigeons and makes them look
as though they have been peroxiding
their hair. Because of his repulsive
and obese appearance, we called
him Quasimodo. Since he had an
unorthodox upbringing, without
parents to teach him, Quasimodo
became convinced that he was not
a bird at all, and refused to fly. He
walked everywhere. He was always
eager to join us in anything we did. He
would even try to come for walks with
us. So you had to either carry him
on your shoulder, which was risking
an accident to your clothes, or else
you let him walk behind. If you let
him walk, then you had to slow down
your own pace to suit his, for should
you get too far ahead you would hear
the most frantic and imploring coos
and turn around to find Quasimodo
running desperately after you.​

Historical fiction is concerned with depicting historical figures and events in a new light. in this excerpt from arthur conan doyle's "the contest," which two sentences most clearly describe historical elements? policles sprang readily to his feet at the challenge, and the great company making way for him to pass, he found himself a minute later standing in his unkempt garb, with his frayed and weather-beaten harp in his hand, before the expectant crowd. he stood for a moment tightening a string here and slackening another there until his chords rang true. then, amid a murmur of laughter and jeers from the roman benches immediately before him, he began to sing. he had prepared no composition, but he had trained himself to improvise, singing out of his heart for the joy of the music. he told of the land of elis, beloved of jupiter, in which they were gathered that day, of the great bare mountain slopes, of the swift shadows of the clouds, of the winding blue river, of the keen air of the uplands, of the chill of the evenings, and the beauties of earth and sky. it was all simple and childlike, but it went to the hearts of the olympians, for it spoke of the land which they knew and loved. yet when he at last dropped his hand, few of them dared to applaud, and their feeble voices were drowned by a storm of hisses and groans from his opponents. he shrank back in horror from so unusual a reception, and in an instant his blue-clad rival was in his place. if he had sung badly before, his performance now was inconceivable. his screams, his grunts, his discords, and harsh jarring cacophonies were an outrage to the very name of music.