| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey: you help us?"
"I reckon I'll stay here to see the thing out," answered Williamson. Edwards
made a mental note of the frontiersman's evasive answer.
Jim had, meanwhile, made the acquaintance of a young minister, John Christy by
name, who had lost his sweetheart in one of the Chippewa raids, and had
accompanied the Williamson expedition in the hope he might rescue her.
"How long have you been out?" asked Jim.
"About four weeks now," answered Christy. "My betrothed was captured five
weeks ago yesterday. I joined Williamson's band, which made up at Short Creek
to take the trail of the flying Chippewas, in the hope I might find her. But
not a trace! The expedition fell upon a band of redskins over on the
The Spirit of the Border |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Domestic Peace by Honore de Balzac: "Ah! I do not know. Some friend of my wife's, no doubt."
"Or your mistress, you old rascal."
"No, on my honor. The Comtesse de Gondreville is the only person
capable of inviting people whom no one knows."
In spite of this very acrimonious comment, the fat little man's lips
did not lose the smile which the Colonel's suggestion had brought to
them. Montcornet returned to the lawyer, who had rejoined a
neighboring group, intent on asking, but in vain, for information as
to the fair unknown. He grasped Martial's arm, and said in his ear:
"My dear Martial, mind what you are about. Madame de Vaudremont has
been watching you for some minutes with ominous attentiveness; she is
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Jungle by Upton Sinclair: till the end of his days. Hour after hour, day after day, year after
year, it was fated that he should stand upon a certain square foot of
floor from seven in the morning until noon, and again from half-past
twelve till half-past five, making never a motion and thinking never a
thought, save for the setting of lard cans. In summer the stench of the
warm lard would be nauseating, and in winter the cans would all but freeze
to his naked little fingers in the unheated cellar. Half the year it would
be dark as night when he went in to work, and dark as night again when he
came out, and so he would never know what the sun looked like on weekdays.
And for this, at the end of the week, he would carry home three dollars to
his family, being his pay at the rate of five cents per hour--just about
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