| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Long Odds by H. Rider Haggard: took to be a family of people, men, women, and children, fast asleep.
Presently it burnt up brightly, and I saw that they too, five of them
altogether, were quite dead. One was a baby. I dropped the match in a
hurry, and was making my way from the hut as quick as I could go, when I
caught sight of two bright eyes staring out of a corner. Thinking it
was a wild cat, or some such animal, I redoubled my haste, when suddenly
a voice near the eyes began first to mutter, and then to send up a
succession of awful yells.
"Hastily I lit another match, and perceived that the eyes belonged to an
old woman, wrapped up in a greasy leather garment. Taking her by the
arm, I dragged her out, for she could not, or would not, come by
Long Odds |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Case of The Lamp That Went Out by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner: excitement rendered him almost inarticulate. The shock of the
surprise occasioned by the detective's words produced a feeling of
irritation ... a phenomenon not unusual in the minds of worthy but
pedantic men of affairs when confronted by a startling new thought.
"I am quite sure of what I am saying, sir. I have just heard the
confession of one who might be called an accomplice of the murderer."
"It is incredible ... incredible! An accomplice you say? ... who
is this accomplice? Might it not be some one who has a grudge
against Thorne - some one who is trying to purposely mislead you ?"
"I am not so easily deceived or misled, sir. Every evidence points
to Thorne, and the confession I have just heard was made by a woman
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Scenes from a Courtesan's Life by Honore de Balzac: ante-room, a little drawing-room, a bedroom, and a small dressing-
room. The door, like that of Peyrade's room, was constructed of a
plate of sheet-iron three lines thick, sandwiched between two strong
oak planks, fitted with locks and elaborate hinges, making it as
impossible to force it as if it were a prison door. Thus, though the
house had a public passage through it, with a shop below and no
doorkeeper, Lydie lived there without a fear. The dining-room, the
little drawing-room, and her bedroom--every window-balcony a hanging
garden--were luxurious in their Dutch cleanliness.
The Flemish nurse had never left Lydie, whom she called her daughter.
The two went to church with a regularity that gave the royalist
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