| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Catriona by Robert Louis Stevenson: would not believe you, do you say? I would trust you with anything.
And these men? I would not be thinking of them! Men who go about to
entrap and to destroy you! Fy! this is no time to crouch. Look up!
Do you not think I will be admiring you like a great hero of the good -
and you a boy not much older than myself? And because you said a word
too much in a friend's ear, that would die ere she betrayed you - to
make such a matter! It is one thing that we must both forget."
"Catriona," said I, looking at her, hang-dog, "is this true of it?
Would ye trust me yet?"
"Will you not believe the tears upon my face?" she cried. "It is the
world I am thinking of you, Mr. David Balfour. Let them hang you; I
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Lesser Bourgeoisie by Honore de Balzac: water when he persists in being drowned."
"I had no idea until this moment of such utter simplicity," replied
the countess; "it is too silly. I pass over to the enemy; and with
that enemy I am ready and desirous to have, whenever he pleases, a
frank and honest explanation."
CHAPTER IV
HUNGARY VERSUS PROVENCE
The next day Theodose felt himself possessed by two curiosities: How
would Celeste behave as to the option she had accepted? and this
Comtesse Torna de Godollo, what did she mean by what she had said; and
what did she want with him?
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Night and Day by Virginia Woolf: at a lump of sugar.
"Where are the sunsets now?" she repeated. "Do you find sunsets now,
Mr. Popham?"
"I live at Highgate," he replied.
"At Highgate? Yes, Highgate has its charms; your Uncle John lived at
Highgate," she jerked in the direction of Katharine. She sank her head
upon her breast, as if for a moment's meditation, which past, she
looked up and observed: "I dare say there are very pretty lanes in
Highgate. I can recollect walking with your mother, Katharine, through
lanes blossoming with wild hawthorn. But where is the hawthorn now?
You remember that exquisite description in De Quincey, Mr. Popham?--
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