| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Man in Lower Ten by Mary Roberts Rinehart: fifteen collar, and was back again in less than five minutes. The
car, as well as its occupants, was gradually taking on a daylight
appearance. I hobbled in, for one of the shoes was abominably tight,
and found myself facing a young woman in blue with an unforgettable
face. ("Three women already." McKnight says: "That's going some,
even if you don't count the Gilmore nurse.") She stood, half-turned
toward me, one hand idly drooping, the other steadying her as she
gazed out at the flying landscape. I had an instant impression that
I had met her somewhere, under different circumstances, more cheerful
ones, I thought, for the girl's dejection now was evident. Beside
her, sitting down, a small dark woman, considerably older, was
The Man in Lower Ten |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey: he had a blaze. He arranged the covering so that not a ray of light escaped.
When the flames had subsided, and the wood had burned down to a glowing bed of
red, he threw aside the bark, and broiled the strips of venison they had
brought with them.
They rested on a bed of boughs which they had cut and arranged alongside a
huge log. For hours Joe lay awake, he could not sleep. He listened to the
breeze rustling the leaves, and shivered at the thought of the sighing wind he
had once heard moan through the forest. Presently he turned over. The slight
noise instantly awakened Wetzel who lifted his dark face while he listened
intently. He spoke one word: "Sleep," and lay back again on the leaves. Joe
forced himself to be quiet, relaxed all his muscles and soon slumbered.
The Spirit of the Border |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Across The Plains by Robert Louis Stevenson: should be man that wearies in well-doing, that despairs of
unrewarded effort, or utters the language of complaint. Let it be
enough for faith, that the whole creation groans in mortal frailty,
strives with unconquerable constancy: Surely not all in vain.
CHAPTER XII - A CHRISTMAS SERMON
BY the time this paper appears, I shall have been talking for
twelve months; and it is thought I should take my leave in a formal
and seasonable manner. Valedictory eloquence is rare, and death-
bed sayings have not often hit the mark of the occasion. Charles
Second, wit and sceptic, a man whose life had been one long lesson
in human incredulity, an easy-going comrade, a manoeuvring king -
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