| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Black Dwarf by Walter Scott: luckpenny I am to gie him for his year-aulds. We had drank sax
mutchkins to the making the bargain at St. Boswell's fair, and
some gate we canna gree upon the particulars preceesely, for as
muckle time as we took about it--I doubt we draw to a plea--But
hear ye, neighbour," addressing my WORTHY AND LEARNED patron, "if
ye want to hear onything about lang or short sheep, I will be
back here to my kail against ane o'clock; or, if ye want ony
auld-warld stories about the Black Dwarf, and sic-like, if ye'll
ware a half mutchkin upon Bauldie there, he'll crack t'ye like a
pen-gun. And I'se gie ye a mutchkin mysell, man, if I can settle
weel wi' Christy Wilson."
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Child of Storm by H. Rider Haggard: become confused and uncertain. Suddenly our doubts were ended, since
out of a patch of dense bush which we had passed--for it had played the
common trick of doubling back on its own spoor--appeared the buffalo, a
huge bull, that halted on three legs, my bullet having broken one of its
thighs. As to its identity there was no doubt, since on, or rather
from, its right horn, which was cleft apart at the top, hung the remains
of Umbezi's moocha.
"Oh, beware, Inkoosi," cried Saduko in a frightened voice. _"It is the
buffalo with the cleft horn!_"
I heard him; I saw. All the scene in the hut of Zikali rose before
me--the old dwarf, his words, everything. I lifted my rifle and fired
Child of Storm |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Drama on the Seashore by Honore de Balzac: clothes. We addressed a few ordinary words to him; he seemed to think
that our mood had changed, and with that reserve that comes of misery,
he kept silence. Though from time to time we pressed each other's
hands that we might feel the mutual flow of our ideas and impressions,
we walked along for half an hour in silence, either because we were
oppressed by the heat which rose in waves from the burning sands, or
because the difficulty of walking absorbed our attention. Like
children, we held each other's hands; in fact, we could hardly have
made a dozen steps had we walked arm in arm. The path which led to
Batz was not so much as traced. A gust of wind was enough to efface
all tracks left by the hoofs of horses or the wheels of carts; but the
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