| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from La Grenadiere by Honore de Balzac: have in the world. You must keep the money upon you, because when I am
dead the lawyers will come and seal everything up. Nothing will be
yours then, not even your mother. All that remains for you to do will
be to go out, poor orphan children, God knows where. I have made
Annette's future secure. She will have an annuity of a hundred crowns,
and she will stay at Tours no doubt. But what will you do for yourself
and your brother?"
She raised herself, and looked at the brave child, standing by her
bedside. There were drops of perspiration on his forehead, he was pale
with emotion, and his eyes were dim with tears.
"I have thought it over, mother," he answered in a deep voice. "I will
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Twelve Stories and a Dream by H. G. Wells: and controlled by my anxiety not to get to this sort of thing too soon.
But in another meeting or so the basis of confidence was complete;
and from first to last I think I got most of the items and aspects--
indeed, I got quite a number of times over almost everything that
Mr. Skelmersdale, with his very limited powers of narration, will
ever be able to tell. And so I come to the story of his adventure,
and I piece it all together again. Whether it really happened,
whether he imagined it or dreamt it, or fell upon it in some strange
hallucinatory trance, I do not profess to say. But that he invented
it I will not for one moment entertain. The man simply and honestly
believes the thing happened as he says it happened; he is transparently
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Hated Son by Honore de Balzac: furtive glance at the actors in this mysterious scene. She did not
recognize Bertrand, who was there disguised and masked as carefully as
his master. After lighting in haste some candles, the light of which
mingled with the first rays of the sun which were reddening the window
panes, the old servitor had gone to the embrasure of a window and
stood leaning against a corner of it. There, with his face towards the
wall, he seemed to be estimating its thickness, keeping his body in
such absolute immobility that he might have been taken for a statue.
In the middle of the room the countess beheld a short, stout man,
apparently out of breath and stupefied, whose eyes were blindfolded
and his features so distorted with terror that it was impossible to
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