| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: he prayed that power might be given these degraded souls to
rise, he glowed at heart, recognizing an accomplished duty.
Wolfe and the woman had stood in the shadow of the works as the
coach drove off. The Doctor had held out his hand in a frank,
generous way, telling him to "take care of himself, and to
remember it was his right to rise." Mitchell had simply touched
his hat, as to an equal, with a quiet look of thorough
recognition. Kirby had thrown Deborah some money, which she
found, and clutched eagerly enough. They were gone now, all of
them. The man sat down on the cinder-road, looking up into the
murky sky.
Life in the Iron-Mills |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Elizabeth and her German Garden by Marie Annette Beauchamp: as next in importance; the hostess would sit near us in an arm-chair;
and you, as a person of no importance whatever, would either be
left to sit where you could, or would be put on a chair facing us,
and with the entire breadth of the table between us to mark the immense
social gulf that separates the married woman from the mere virgin.
These sofa corners make the drawing of nice distinctions possible
in a way that nothing else could. The world might come to an end,
and create less sensation in doing it, than you would, Miss Minora,
if by any chance you got into the right-hand corner of one.
That you are put on a chair on the other side of the table places
you at once in the scale of precedence, and exactly defines your
Elizabeth and her German Garden |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Case of the Registered Letter by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner: that John may have been right, that possibly he also may have been
accused and sentenced on circumstantial evidence alone. I have
thought much, and I have learned much in these terrible days."
The prisoner paused again and sat brooding, his eyes looking out
into space. Muller respected his suffering and sat in equal
silence, until Graumann raised his eyes to his again. "Then came
the evening of the 23rd of September?"
"Yes, that evening - it's all like a dream to me." Graumann began
again. "John wrote me a letter asking me to come to see him on that
evening. I tore up the letter and threw it away - or perhaps, yes,
I remember now, I did not wish Eleonora to see that he had written
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