| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Death of the Lion by Henry James: charming form, with notes, with the tenderest editorial care, that
precious heritage of his written project. But where was that
precious heritage and were both the author and the book to have
been snatched from us? Lady Augusta wrote me that she had done all
she could and that poor Lord Dorimont, who had really been worried
to death, was extremely sorry. I couldn't have the matter out with
Mrs. Wimbush, for I didn't want to be taunted by her with desiring
to aggrandise myself by a public connexion with Mr. Paraday's
sweepings. She had signified her willingness to meet the expense
of all advertising, as indeed she was always ready to do. The last
night of the horrible series, the night before he died, I put my
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The People That Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs: in--I am not a foe. I have no wish to be an enemy of any man
in Caspak, with the possible exception of the Galu warrior Du-seen."
"Du-seen!" he exclaimed. "You are an enemy of Du-seen? And why?"
"Because he would harm Ajor," I replied. "You know him?"
"He cannot know him," said Ajor. "Du-seen rose from the Kro-lu
long ago, taking a new name, as all do when they enter a new sphere.
He cannot know him, as there is no intercourse between the Kro-lu
and the Galu."
The warrior smiled. "Du-seen rose not so long ago," he said,
"that I do not recall him well, and recently he has taken it
upon himself to abrogate the ancient laws of Caspak; he had had
The People That Time Forgot |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Red Inn by Honore de Balzac: won't fight always, 'ceux-ci.' Well, when there's peace, will you go
to Beauvais? If my mother has survived the fatal news of my death, you
will find her there. Say to her the comforting words, 'He was
innocent!' She will believe you. I am going to write to her; but you
must take her my last look; you must tell her that you were the last
man whose hand I pressed. Oh, she'll love you, the poor woman! you, my
last friend. Here," he said, after a moment's silence, during which he
was overcome by the weight of his recollections, "all, officers and
soldiers, are unknown to me; I am an object of horror to them. If it
were not for you my innocence would be a secret between God and
myself."
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