| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from My Antonia by Willa Cather: her hands, poor child, and said, "I just don't know, Mrs. Steavens.
I guess my patience was wore out, waiting so long. I thought if he saw
how well I could do for him, he'd want to stay with me."
`Jimmy, I sat right down on that bank beside her and made lament.
I cried like a young thing. I couldn't help it.
I was just about heart-broke. It was one of them lovely warm
May days, and the wind was blowing and the colts jumping
around in the pastures; but I felt bowed with despair.
My Antonia, that had so much good in her, had come home disgraced.
And that Lena Lingard, that was always a bad one, say what you will,
had turned out so well, and was coming home here every summer
My Antonia |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Amazing Interlude by Mary Roberts Rinehart: orribly. She knew that. He might never come back to the little house
of mercy. There was, in Henri, for all his joyousness, an implacable
strain. And she had attacked his honor. What possible right had she
to do that?
The memory of all his thoughtful kindness came back, and it was a pale
and distracted Sara Lee who looked across the table at Jean.
"Did he tell you anything?"
"Nothing, mademoiselle."
"He is very angry with me, Jean."
"But surely no, mademoiselle. With you? It is impossible."
But though they said nothing more, Jean considered the matter deeply.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Chita: A Memory of Last Island by Lafcadio Hearn: brain by the shock of that terrible night. She said her mother's
name was Adele, and her father's Julien; but these were very
common names in Louisiana,--and could afford scarcely any better
clew than the innocent statement that her mother used to address
her father as "dear" (Cheri),--or with the Creole diminutive
"little papa" (Papoute). Then Laroussel tried to reach a clew in
other ways, without success. He asked her about where she
lived,--what the place was like; and she told him about fig-trees
in a court, and galleries, and banquettes, and spoke of a
faubou',--without being able to name any street. He asked her
what her father used to do, and was assured that he did
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