| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Frances Waldeaux by Rebecca Davis: "No." She rose, holding out her hands, laughing. "My
husband, I believe, is a rich man, and I shall have what
he gives me."
But he did not hear her. He walked away down the road,
shaken by a dumb fury. He had been tricked! Who had
tricked him?
Then he heard a miserable sob and turned. Great God!
Was any thing on earth so dear as that little woman
standing there? She was crying! Had he struck her? He
was a brute. What had he done?
He ran to her, and taking her outstretched hands, kissed
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Options by O. Henry: wished I could have comforted her. But I was not George. And I was
glad I was not Hiram--and yet I was sorry, too.
By-and-by the shower passed. She straightened up, brave and half-way
smiling. She would have made a splendid wife, for crying only made
her eyes more bright and tender. She took a gum-drop and began her
story.
"I guess I'm a terrible hayseed," she said between her little gulps
and sighs, "but I can't help it. G--George Brown and I were sweet-
hearts since he was eight and I was five. When he was nineteen--that
was four years ago--he left Greenburg and went to the city. He said
he was going to be a policeman or a railroad president or something.
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Cousin Pons by Honore de Balzac: theatre, unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full, it
starts at the same time. Here at six o'clock every evening, up goes
the curtain; and if we are never sorry for ourselves, it won't make
good music. Let us see now--how is he?"
La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her eyes.
"It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir," said she; "but I am
afraid we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as of the
apple of our eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say that you must
not count on M. Schmucke, worthy man, for he is going to sit up with
him at night. One cannot help doing as if there was hope still left,
and trying one's best to snatch the dear, good soul from death. But
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