| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The White Moll by Frank L. Packard: palms. Couldn't she do anything? And there was the money, too,
for those two old people. Wasn't there any - She caught her breath.
Yes, yes! Perhaps there was a way to save the money; yes, and at
the same time to place herself on a firmer footing of intimacy with
these two men here - if she went on with this. But - She shook her
head. She could not afford "buts" now; they must take care of
themselves afterwards. She would play Gypsy Nan now without
reservation. These two men here, like Shluker, were obviously
ignorant that Gypsy Nan was Danglar's wife; so she was - Pinkie
Bonn's hand was on her arm. She had stumbled.
"Look out for yourself!" he cautioned under his breath. "Don't
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Wife, et al by Anton Chekhov: reflected and kept asking myself what our love could lead to if
we had not the strength to fight against it. It seemed to be
incredible that my gentle, sad love could all at once coarsely
break up the even tenor of the life of her husband, her children,
and all the household in which I was so loved and trusted. Would
it be honourable? She would go away with me, but where? Where
could I take her? It would have been a different matter if I had
had a beautiful, interesting life -- if, for instance, I had been
struggling for the emancipation of my country, or had been a
celebrated man of science, an artist or a painter; but as it was
it would mean taking her from one everyday humdrum life to
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Witch, et. al by Anton Chekhov: Silence followed. . . . Meanwhile the darkness was growing
thicker and thicker, and objects began to lose their contours.
The streak behind the hill had completely died away, and the
stars were growing brighter and more luminous. . . . The
mournfully monotonous chirping of the grasshoppers, the call of
the landrail, and the cry of the quail did not destroy the
stillness of the night, but, on the contrary, gave it an added
monotony. It seemed as though the soft sounds that enchanted the
ear came, not from birds or insects, but from the stars looking
down upon us from the sky. . . .
Savka was the first to break the silence. He slowly turned his
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