| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson: "And that is an excellent observe, Mr. Balfour of Shaws," says
Alan, drolling with me; "and it would certainly be much simpler
for me to write to him, but it would be a sore job for John Breck
to read it. He would have to go to the school for two-three
years; and it's possible we might be wearied waiting on him."
So that night Alan carried down his fiery cross and set it in the
bouman's window. He was troubled when he came back; for the dogs
had barked and the folk run out from their houses; and he thought
he had heard a clatter of arms and seen a red-coat come to one of
the doors. On all accounts we lay the next day in the borders of
the wood and kept a close look-out, so that if it was John Breck
Kidnapped |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Bucky O'Connor by William MacLeod Raine: played out from her little trek across the desert. Funny, ain't
it, how she could have wandered that far and her afoot?"
The Arizona sun was setting in its accustomed blaze of splendor,
when Val Collins and Alice Mackenzie put their horses again
toward the ranch and the rainbow-hued west. In his contented eyes
were reflected the sunshine and a serenity born of life in the
wide, open spaces. They rode in silence for long, the gentle
evening breeze blowing in soughs.
"Did you ever meet a man of such promises gone wrong so utterly?
He might have been anything--and it has come to this, that he is
hunted like a wild beast. I never saw anything so pitiful. I
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Several Works by Edgar Allan Poe: unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such
as the madman fashions. There were much of the beautiful, much of
the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and
not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro
in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of
dreams. And these--the dreams--writhed in and about taking hue
from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem
as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony
clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a
moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the
clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes
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