| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Mirror of the Sea by Joseph Conrad: "He wants to be a locksmith!" burst out Cervoni. "To learn how to
pick locks, I suppose," he added with sardonic bitterness.
"Why not let him be a locksmith?" I ventured.
"Who would teach him?" he cried. "Where could I leave him?" he
asked, with a drop in his voice; and I had my first glimpse of
genuine despair. "He steals, you know, alas! PAR TA MADONNE! I
believe he would put poison in your food and mine - the viper!"
He raised his face and both his clenched fists slowly to heaven.
However, Cesar never dropped poison into our cups. One cannot be
sure, but I fancy he went to work in another way.
This voyage, of which the details need not be given, we had to
The Mirror of the Sea |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Maitre Cornelius by Honore de Balzac: an escort of honor. As for your instructions and credentials, they
will be in Venice before you get there."
Louis then gave the order--not without adding certain secret
instructions--to a lieutenant of the Scottish guard to take a squad of
men and accompany the ambassador to Venice. Saint-Vallier departed in
haste, after giving his wife a cold kiss which he would fain have made
deadly. Louis XI. then crossed over to the Malemaison, eager to begin
the unravelling of the melancholy comedy, lasting now for eight years,
in the house of his silversmith; flattering himself that, in his
quality of king, he had enough penetration to discover the secret of
the robberies. Cornelius did not see the arrival of the escort of his
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Travels with a Donkey in the Cevenne by Robert Louis Stevenson: pillow, and it was thrice repeated before I had time to sit up and
turn about. Nothing was to be seen, nothing more was to be heard,
but a few of these mysterious rustlings far and near, and the
ceaseless accompaniment of the river and the frogs. I learned next
day that the chestnut gardens are infested by rats; rustling,
chirping, and scraping were probably all due to these; but the
puzzle, for the moment, was insoluble, and I had to compose myself
for sleep, as best I could, in wondering uncertainty about my
neighbours.
I was wakened in the grey of the morning (Monday, 30th September)
by the sound of foot-steps not far off upon the stones, and opening
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