| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Ball at Sceaux by Honore de Balzac: him, and spoke of him as the most thorough Vendeen of them all.
Notwithstanding this ovation, none of these august persons thought of
inquiring as to the sum of his losses, or of the money he had poured
so generously into the chests of the Catholic regiments. He
discovered, a little late, that he had made war at his own cost.
Towards the end of the evening he thought he might venture on a witty
allusion to the state of his affairs, similar, as it was, to that of
many other gentlemen. His Majesty laughed heartily enough; any speech
that bore the hall-mark of wit was certain to please him; but he
nevertheless replied with one of those royal pleasantries whose
sweetness is more formidable than the anger of a rebuke. One of the
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Tour Through Eastern Counties of England by Daniel Defoe: the west side, from St. Mary's towards the north gate; and we were
assured they intended a storm; on which the engineers were directed
to make trenches behind the walls where the breaches should be
made, that in case of a storm they might meet with a warm
reception. Upon this, they gave over the design of storming. The
Lord Goring finding that the enemy had set the suburbs on fire
right against the Hythe, ordered the remaining houses, which were
empty of inhabitants, from whence their musketeer fired against the
town, to be burned also.
31st. A body of foot sallied out at midnight, to discover what the
enemy were doing at a place where they thought a new fort raising;
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from A Daughter of Eve by Honore de Balzac: "Wait," she said, and disappeared again.
Felix had ably prepared her excuse, and he was instantly rewarded for
his generosity. His wife returned with Nathan's letters in her hand,
and gave them to him.
"Judge me," she said, kneeling down beside him.
"Are we able to judge where we love?" he answered, throwing the
letters into the fire; for he felt that later his wife might not
forgive him for having read them. Marie, with her head upon his knee,
burst into tears.
"My child," he said, raising her head, "where are your letters?"
At this question the poor woman no longer felt the intolerable burning
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