| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe: thought the perfect keeping of the character of the premises with
the accredited character of the people, and while speculating
upon the possible influence which the one, in the long
lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon the other--it was
this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent
undeviating transmission, from sire to son, of the patrimony with
the name, which had, at length, so identified the two as to merge
the original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal
appellation of the "House of Usher"--an appellation which seemed
to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it, both the
family and the family mansion.
The Fall of the House of Usher |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Moon-Face and Other Stories by Jack London: "He can't. He inherited his money. But he knows enough to hold on to it and
hire other men's brains. He is very conservative."
"That is to be expected," was Chris's comment. His gaze went back to the man
and woman who had been father and mother to the girl beside him. "Do you
know," he said, "it came to me with a shock yesterday when you told me that
they had turned against me and that I was scarcely tolerated. I met them
afterwards, last evening, guiltily, in fear and trembling--and to-day, too.
And yet I could see no difference from of old."
"Dear man," Lute sighed. "Hospitality is as natural to them as the act of
breathing. But it isn't that, after all. It is all genuine in their dear
hearts. No matter how severe the censure they put upon you when you are
|
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from One Basket by Edna Ferber: that serene brow. He had carried the picture of them in his mind
for more than thirty years, so it was not so surprising.
He did not hesitate. He might have if he had thought a moment,
but he acted automatically. He stood before her. "You're Emma
Byers, ain't you?"
She did not know him at first. Small blame to her, so completely
had the roguish, vigorous boy vanished in this sallow, sad-eyed
old man. Then: "Why, Ben!" she said quietly. And there was
pity in her voice, though she did not mean to have it there. She
put out one hand--that capable, reassuring hand--and gripped his
and held it a moment. It was queer and significant that it
One Basket |
