| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Case of the Registered Letter by Grace Isabel Colbron and Augusta Groner: innocence of the charges against him, and declared that he had been
unjustly accused and imprisoned. I am afraid that I was hard
towards him. I begin to understand now, as I never thought I
should, what it means to be accused of crime. I begin to realise
that it is possible for every evidence to point to a man who is
absolutely innocent of the deed in question. I begin to think now
that John may have been right, that possibly he also may have been
accused and sentenced on circumstantial evidence alone. I have
thought much, and I have learned much in these terrible days."
The prisoner paused again and sat brooding, his eyes looking out
into space. Muller respected his suffering and sat in equal
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Edition of The Ambassadors by Henry James: not mistaken, that Madame Roland must on the scaffold have worn
something like it. This effect was enhanced by a small black fichu
or scarf, of crape or gauze, disposed quaintly round her bosom and
now completing as by a mystic touch the pathetic, the noble analogy.
Poor Strether in fact scarce knew what analogy was evoked for him
as the charming woman, receiving him and making him, as she could do
such things, at once familiarly and gravely welcome, moved over her
great room with her image almost repeated in its polished floor,
which had been fully bared for summer. The associations of the place,
all felt again; the gleam here and there, in the subdued light,
of glass and gilt and parquet, with the quietness of her own note
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield: the porter with the luggage. He made two journeys of it, leaving the door
open in between, taking his time, whistling through his teeth in the
corridor. Hammond paced up and down the room, tearing off his gloves,
tearing off his scarf. Finally he flung his overcoat on to the bedside.
At last the fool was gone. The door clicked. Now they were alone. Said
Hammond: "I feel I'll never have you to myself again. These cursed
people! Janey"--and he bent his flushed, eager gaze upon her--"let's have
dinner up here. If we go down to the restaurant we'll be interrupted, and
then there's the confounded music" (the music he'd praised so highly,
applauded so loudly last night!). "We shan't be able to hear each other
speak. Let's have something up here in front of the fire. It's too late
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