| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: grocer or butcher who takes it?"
"And yet," said Mitchell's cynical voice, "look at her! How
hungry she is!"
Kirby tapped his boot with his cane. No one spoke. Only the
dumb face of the rough image looking into their faces with the
awful question, "What shall we do to be saved?" Only Wolfe's
face, with its heavy weight of brain, its weak, uncertain mouth,
its desperate eyes, out of which looked the soul of his class,--
only Wolfe's face turned towards Kirby's. Mitchell laughed,--a
cool, musical laugh.
"Money has spoken!" he said, seating himself lightly on a stone
Life in the Iron-Mills |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Circular Staircase by Mary Roberts Rinehart: very violent. When he left it was after two. He had gone up to
the house--Thomas did not know why--and at three o'clock he was
shot at the foot of the circular staircase.
The following morning Louise had been ill. She had asked for
Arnold, and was told he had left town. Thomas had not the moral
courage to tell her of the crime. She refused a doctor, and
shrank morbidly from having her presence known. Mrs. Watson and
Thomas had had their hands full, and at last Rosie had been
enlisted to help them. She carried necessary provisions--little
enough--to the lodge, and helped to keep the secret.
Thomas told me quite frankly that he had been anxious to keep
The Circular Staircase |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Passion in the Desert by Honore de Balzac: "What seems to you a problem," said I, interrupting, "is really quite
natural."
"Oh!" she cried, letting an incredulous smile wander over her lips.
"You think that beasts are wholly without passions?" I asked her.
"Quite the reverse; we can communicate to them all the vices arising
in our own state of civilization."
She looked at me with an air of astonishment.
"But," I continued, "the first time I saw M. Martin, I admit, like
you, I did give vent to an exclamation of surprise. I found myself
next to an old soldier with the right leg amputated, who had come in
with me. His face had struck me. He had one of those heroic heads,
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