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Today's Stichomancy for Bill Gates

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from My Antonia by Willa Cather:

They sat about the house most of the day as if it were Sunday; greasing their boots, mending their suspenders, plaiting whiplashes.

On the morning of the twenty-second, grandfather announced at breakfast that it would be impossible to go to Black Hawk for Christmas purchases. Jake was sure he could get through on horseback, and bring home our things in saddle-bags; but grandfather told him the roads would be obliterated, and a newcomer in the country would be lost ten times over. Anyway, he would never allow one of his horses to be put to such a strain.

We decided to have a country Christmas, without any help from town. I had wanted to get some picture books for Yulka and Antonia; even Yulka was able to read a little now. Grandmother took me into


My Antonia
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War by Frederick A. Talbot:

not to be compared with the "Archibalds," which are able to throw heavy shrapnel and incendiary shells, and have a vertical range of about 6,000 to 8,000 feet.

The improvised motor-gun has not proved a complete success, except in those instances when the hostile aircraft has ventured to approach somewhat closely to the ground. The more formidable weapons cannot be mounted upon ordinary vehicles, inasmuch as the increase in weight, which is appreciable, impairs the efficiency of the vehicle, and at the same time enhances the possibility of breakdown at a critical moment. For such arms a special and substantial chassis is imperative, while the motive power and

The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from One Basket by Edna Ferber:

before it became an obsession with her, that hideous breakfast quarrel, with its taunts, and revilings, and open hate, might never have come to pass.

Terry Platt herself didn't know what was the matter with her. She would have denied that anything was wrong. She didn't even throw her hands above her head and shriek: "I want to live! I want to live! I want to live!" like a lady in a play. She only knew she was sick of sewing at the Wetona West End Red Cross shop; sick of marketing, of home comforts, of Orville, of the flap.

Orville, you may remember, left at 8:19. The 11:23 bore Terry


One Basket