| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: saying something--something more. Then because these people set such store
by funerals he said kindly, "I hope the funeral went off all right."
"Beg parding, sir?" said old Ma Parker huskily.
Poor old bird! She did look dashed. "I hope the funeral was a--a--
success," said he. Ma Parker gave no answer. She bent her head and
hobbled off to the kitchen, clasping the old fish bag that held her
cleaning things and an apron and a pair of felt shoes. The literary
gentleman raised his eyebrows and went back to his breakfast.
"Overcome, I suppose," he said aloud, helping himself to the marmalade.
Ma Parker drew the two jetty spears out of her toque and hung it behind the
door. She unhooked her worn jacket and hung that up too. Then she tied
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Legend of Montrose by Walter Scott: dried, it is frequently used in the Highlands instead of candles.
The unexpected and somewhat startling apparition was seen by the
red glare of the torches, which displayed the wild features,
unusual dress, and glittering arms of those who bore them, while
the smoke, eddying up to the roof of the hall, over-canopied them
with a volume of vapour. Ere the strangers had recovered from
their surprise, Allan stept forward, and pointing with his
sheathed broadsword to the torch-bearers, said, in a deep and
stern tone of voice, "Behold, gentlemen cavaliers, the
chandeliers of my brother's house, the ancient fashion of our
ancient name; not one of these men knows any law but their Chiefs
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Troll Garden and Selected Stories by Willa Cather: should lose her courage and fall now, under those hoofs-- He
struck out again and again, kicking right and left with all his
might. Already the negligent drivers had galloped into the cut,
and their long quirts were whistling over the heads of the herd.
As suddenly as it had come, the struggling, frantic wave of wild
life swept up out of the gulch and on across the open prairie, and
with a long despairing whinny of farewell the pony dropped her head
and stood trembling in her sweat, shaking the foam and blood from
her bit.
Eric stepped close to Margaret's side and laid his hand on her
saddle. "You are not hurt?" he asked, hoarsely. As he raised his
The Troll Garden and Selected Stories |
