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Today's Stichomancy for Colin Farrell

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from A Legend of Montrose by Walter Scott:

recommend to your lordship's special favour, as the instrument of saving your lordship's to command, Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket."

"A thankworthy service," said the Marquis, gravely, "which shall certainly be requited in the manner it deserves."

"Kneel down, Ranald," said Major Dalgetty (as we must now call him), "kneel down, and kiss his Excellency's hand."

The prescribed form of acknowledgment not being according to the custom of Ranald's country, he contented himself with folding his arms on his bosom, and making a low inclination of his head.

"This poor man, my lord," said Major Dalgetty, continuing his

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Child of Storm by H. Rider Haggard:

Still, I think that she was very glad to see me, because I had tried to save the life of her first child, whom she could not forget, if for no other reason. Whilst I was talking to her of that sad matter, also of the political state of the country, as to which I think she wished to say something to me, Mameena entered the hut, without waiting to be asked, and sat down, whereon Nandie became suddenly silent.

This, however, did not trouble Mameena, who talked away about anything and everything, completely ignoring the head-wife. For a while Nandie bore it with patience, but at length she took advantage of a pause in the conversation to say in her firm, low voice:

"This is my hut, daughter of Umbezi, a thing which you remember well


Child of Storm
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Lover's Complaint by William Shakespeare:

Which late her noble suit in court did shun, Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, But kept cold distance, and did thence remove To spend her living in eternal love.

'But O, my sweet, what labour is't to leave The thing we have not, mastering what not strives? Paling the place which did no form receive, Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves: She that her fame so to herself contrives, The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,