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Today's Stichomancy for Wyatt Earp

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Firm of Nucingen by Honore de Balzac:

from the present, the crown has no right of conferring nobility, and barons and counts are made with closed doors; more is the pity!" said Finot.

"You regret the times of the savonnette a vilain, when you could buy an office that ennobled?" asked Bixiou. "You are right. Je reviens a nos moutons.--Do you know Beaudenord? No? no? no? Ah, well! See how all things pass away! Poor fellow, ten years ago he was the flower of dandyism; and now, so thoroughly absorbed that you no more know him than Finot just now knew the origin of the expression 'coup de Jarnac'--I repeat that simply for the sake of illustration, and not to tease you, Finot. Well, it is a fact, he belonged to the Faubourg

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Father Goriot by Honore de Balzac:

day you came back with a word written on your forehead. I knew it, I could read it--'SUCCESS!' Yes, success at any price. 'Bravo,' said I to myself, 'here is the sort of fellow for me.' You wanted money. Where was it all to come from? You have drained your sisters' little hoard (all brothers sponge more or less on their sisters). Those fifteen hundred francs of yours (got together, God knows how! in a country where there are more chestnuts than five-franc pieces) will slip away like soldiers after pillage. And, then, what will you do? Shall you begin to work? Work, or what you understand by work at this moment, means, for a man of Poiret's calibre, an old age in Mamma Vauquer's

Father Goriot
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Amazing Interlude by Mary Roberts Rinehart:

gone away into the wings and had not come back. At nineteen she was alone knitting by the fire, with no idea whatever that the back drop was of painted net, and that beyond it, waiting for its moment, was the forest of adventure. A strange forest, too - one that Sara Lee would not have recognised as a forest. And a prince of course - but a prince as strange and mysterious as the forest.

The end of December, 1914, found Sara Lee quite contented. If it was resignation rather than content, no one but Sara Lee knew the difference. Knitting, too; but not for soldiers. She was, to be candid, knitting an afghan against an interesting event which involved a friend of hers.

Sara Lee rather deplored the event - in her own mind, of course, for in