| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Altar of the Dead by Henry James: instantly offered to turn round and walk away with her. She
considered, then she said: "Go in now, but come and see me in an
hour." He knew the small vista of her street, closed at the end
and as dreary as an empty pocket, where the pairs of shabby little
houses, semi-detached but indissolubly united, were like married
couples on bad terms. Often, however, as he had gone to the
beginning he had never gone beyond. Her aunt was dead - that he
immediately guessed, as well as that it made a difference; but when
she had for the first time mentioned her number he found himself,
on her leaving him, not a little agitated by this sudden
liberality. She wasn't a person with whom, after all, one got on
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Where There's A Will by Mary Roberts Rinehart: she was lying on the cot and she didn't look up.
"Sleeping?" I asked in a whisper.
"Grumping!" Mr. Dick answered. He went over and stood looking
down at her with his hands in his pockets and his hair
ruffled as if he'd been running his fingers through it. She
never moved a shoulder.
"Dorothy," he said. "Here's Minnie."
She pretended not to hear.
"Dorothy!" he repeated. "I wish you wouldn't be such a g--
Confound it, Dolly, be reasonable. Do you want to make me look
like a fool?"
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Taras Bulba and Other Tales by Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol: resembling a cupboard. Two little Jews lay down on the floor beside
the cupboard, like a couple of dogs. But Taras did not sleep; he sat
motionless, drumming on the table with his fingers. He kept his pipe
in his mouth, and puffed out smoke, which made the Jew sneeze in his
sleep and pull his coverlet over his nose. Scarcely was the sky
touched with the first faint gleams of dawn than he pushed Yankel with
his foot, saying: "Rise, Jew, and give me your count's dress!"
In a moment he was dressed. He blackened his moustache and eyebrows,
put on his head a small dark cap; even the Cossacks who knew him best
would not have recognised him. Apparently he was not more than
thirty-five. A healthy colour glowed on his cheeks, and his scars lent
Taras Bulba and Other Tales |
