| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: more watery. She wore a faded cotton gown and a slouching
bonnet. When she walked, one could see that she was deformed,
almost a hunchback. She trod softly, so as not to waken him,
and went through into the room beyond. There she found by the
half-extinguished fire an iron saucepan filled with cold boiled
potatoes, which she put upon a broken chair with a pint-cup of
ale. Placing the old candlestick beside this dainty repast, she
untied her bonnet, which hung limp and wet over her face, and
prepared to eat her supper. It was the first food that had
touched her lips since morning. There was enough of it,
however: there is not always. She was hungry,--one could see
Life in the Iron-Mills |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from A Kidnapped Santa Claus by L. Frank Baum: that is a great pity, nevertheless," he continued musingly.
So the fairies, and knooks, and pixies, and ryls all escorted the good
man to his castle, and there left him to talk over the events of the
night with his little assistants.
Wisk had already rendered himself invisible and flown through the big
world to see how the children were getting along on this bright
Christmas morning; and by the time he returned, Peter had finished
telling Santa Claus of how they had distributed the toys.
"We really did very well," cried the fairy, in a pleased voice; "for I
found little unhappiness among the children this morning. Still, you
must not get captured again, my dear master; for we might not be so
A Kidnapped Santa Claus |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Nana, Miller's Daughter, Captain Burle, Death of Olivier Becaille by Emile Zola: squarer and harder now that he was busy quoting figures to the
writhing, struggling Steiner.
"My word, he's got a phiz for it!" murmured Fauchery. "A pretty
present he made his wife! Poor little thing, how he must have bored
her! She knows nothing about anything, I'll wager!"
Just then the Countess Sabine was saying something to him. But he
did not hear her, so amusing and extraordinary did he esteem the
Muffats' case. She repeated the question.
"Monsieur Fauchery, have you not published a sketch of Monsieur de
Bismarck? You spoke with him once?"
He got up briskly and approached the circle of ladies, endeavoring
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