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Today's Stichomancy for Lucky Luciano

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Letters from England by Elizabeth Davis Bancroft:

my maid, or conveniences for luggage, so we take a travelling carriage. The imperials (which are large, flat boxes, covering the whole top of the carriage, CAPITAL for velvet dresses, and smaller ones fitting into all the seats IN the carriage, and BEFORE and BEHIND) are brought to you the day before. I am merely asked what dresses I wish taken, and that is all I know of the matter, so thoroughly does an English maid understand her business. We were shown on our arrival into a charming room, semi-library.

In a few minutes a servant came to show me to my apartment, which was very superb, with a comfortable dressing-room and fire for Mr. Bancroft, where the faithful Keats unpacked his dressing materials,

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Master Key by L. Frank Baum:

He turned the cylinder of the Record to "England," and slowly the events of the last twenty-four hours were reproduced, one after the other, upon the polished plate.

Before long the king uttered an exclamation. The Record pictured a small room in which were seated three gentlemen engaged in earnest conversation. One of them was the accused minister.

"Those men," said the king in a low voice, while he pointed out the other two, "are my avowed enemies. This is proof that your wonderful spectacles indicated my minister's character with perfect truth. I am grateful to you for thus putting me upon my guard, for I have trusted the man fully."

The Master Key
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Battle of the Books by Jonathan Swift:

Once more the Dean supplies their place. Beauty and wit, too sad a truth, Have always been confined to youth; The god of wit, and beauty's queen, He twenty-one, and she fifteen; No poet ever sweetly sung. Unless he were like Phoebus, young; Nor ever nymph inspired to rhyme, Unless like Venus in her prime. At fifty-six, if this be true, Am I a poet fit for you;