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Today's Stichomancy for John Glenn

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Lesson of the Master by Henry James:

with the General and got off. His face was red and he had the sense of its growing more and more crimson. All the evening at home - he went straight to his rooms and remained there dinnerless - his cheek burned at intervals as if it had been smitten. He didn't understand what had happened to him, what trick had been played him, what treachery practised. "None, none," he said to himself. "I've nothing to do with it. I'm out of it - it s none of my business." But that bewildered murmur was followed again and again by the incongruous ejaculation: "Was it a plan - was it a plan?" Sometimes he cried to himself, breathless, "Have I been duped, sold, swindled?" If at all, he was an absurd, an abject

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Moby Dick by Herman Melville:

our Lord 1775, this great whaling house was in existence, my numerous fish-documents do not make plain; but in that year (1775) it fitted out the first English ships that ever regularly hunted the Sperm Whale; though for some score of years previous (ever since 1726) our valiant Coffins and Maceys of Nantucket and the Vineyard had in large fleets pursued that Leviathan, but only in the North and South Atlantic: not elsewhere. Be it distinctly recorded here, that the Nantucketers were the first among mankind to harpoon with civilized steel the great Sperm Whale; and that for half a century they were the only people of the whole globe who so harpooned him.

In 1778, a fine ship, the Amelia, fitted out for the express purpose,


Moby Dick
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Z. Marcas by Honore de Balzac:

and I remained in perfect ignorance of the fact. The old woman who managed the house had indeed told us that the room was inhabited, but she had added that we should not be disturbed, that the occupant was exceedingly quiet. In fact, for those six months, we never met our fellow-lodger, and we never heard a sound in his room, in spite of the thinness of the partition that divided us--one of those walls of lath and plaster which are common in Paris houses.

Our room, a little over seven feet high, was hung with a vile cheap paper sprigged with blue. The floor was painted, and knew nothing of the polish given by the /frotteur's/ brush. By our beds there was only a scrap of thin carpet. The chimney opened immediately to the roof,