| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne: pair of heels, according to Pencroft's mode of speaking. After having
doubled Flotsam Point and Claw Cape, the captain kept her close hauled, so
as to sail along the southern coast of the island, when it was found she
sailed admirably within five points of the wind. All hands were enchanted,
they had a good vessel, which, in case of need, would be of great service
to them, and with fine weather and a fresh breeze the voyage promised to be
charming.
Pencroft now stood off the shore, three or four miles across from Port
Balloon. The island then appeared in all its extent and under a new aspect,
with the varied panorama of its shore from Claw Cape to Reptile End, the
forests in which dark firs contrasted with the young foliage of other
The Mysterious Island |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Adieu by Honore de Balzac: none whose costume did not present some laughable singularity. But in
presence of such amusing sights the men themselves were grave and
gloomy. The silence was broken only by the snapping of the wood, the
crackling of the flames, the distant murmur of the camps, and the
blows of the sabre given to what remained of Bichette in search of her
tenderest morsels. A few miserable creatures, perhaps more weary than
the rest, were sleeping; when one of their number rolled into the fire
no one attempted to help him out. These stern logicians argued that if
he were not dead his burns would warn him to find a safer place. If
the poor wretch waked in the flames and perished, no one cared. Two or
three soldiers looked at each other to justify their own indifference
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: a hopeless sort of tears, but did not speak again. The man
looked up furtively at her now and then. Whatever his own
trouble was, her distress vexed him with a momentary sting.
It was market-day. The narrow window of the jail looked down
directly on the carts and wagons drawn up in a long line, where
they had unloaded. He could see, too, and hear distinctly the
clink of money as it changed hands, the busy crowd of whites and
blacks shoving, pushing one another, and the chaffering and
swearing at the stalls. Somehow, the sound, more than anything
else had done, wakened him up,--made the whole real to him. He
was done with the world and the business of it. He let the tin
Life in the Iron-Mills |
