| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells: I knew no way of getting anything to eat. I was too ignorant of botany
to discover any resort of root or fruit that might lie about me;
I had no means of trapping the few rabbits upon the island.
It grew blanker the more I turned the prospect over. At last in
the desperation of my position, my mind turned to the animal men I
had encountered. I tried to find some hope in what I remembered of them.
In turn I recalled each one I had seen, and tried to draw some augury
of assistance from my memory.
Then suddenly I heard a staghound bay, and at that realised a new danger.
I took little time to think, or they would have caught me then,
but snatching up my nailed stick, rushed headlong from my hiding-place
The Island of Doctor Moreau |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Pool in the Desert by Sara Jeanette Duncan: of sufficient detachment from the whole problem to reflect upon the
absurdity of a bigamist rattling forth to discuss her probable ruin
in the fanciful gaiety of a rickshaw. The circumstances had its
value though; it lightened all responsibility for the lady
concerned. As Madeline heard her jump out and give pronounced
orders for the securing of an accompanying dachshund, it did not
seem to matter so particularly what became of Violet Prendergast.
Mrs. Innes's footsteps came briskly along the veranda. Madeline
noted that there was no lagging. 'Number seven,' she said aloud; as
she passed other doors, 'Number eight--number nine! Ah! there you
are.' The door was open. 'I wouldn't let them bring up my card for
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Sanitary and Social Lectures by Charles Kingsley: this, a weariness often about the wrinkling forehead and the
drooping lids;--all these, which are growing too common, not among
the Demos only, nor only in the towns, are signs, they think, of
the unrest of unhealth, physical, intellectual, spiritual. At
least they are as different as two types of physiognomy in the
same race can be, from the expression both of face and gesture, in
those old Greek sculptures, and in the old Italian painters; and,
it must be said, in the portraits of Reynolds, and Gainsborough,
Copley, and Romney. Not such, one thinks, must have been the
mothers of Britain during the latter half of the last century and
the beginning of the present; when their sons, at times, were
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