| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley: midges nibbled so at his hands and face wherever they could find a
place free from soot, that at last he woke up, and stumbled away,
down over a low wall, and into a narrow road, and up to the
cottage-door.
And a neat pretty cottage it was, with clipped yew hedges all round
the garden, and yews inside too, cut into peacocks and trumpets and
teapots and all kinds of queer shapes. And out of the open door
came a noise like that of the frogs on the Great-A, when they know
that it is going to be scorching hot to-morrow - and how they know
that I don't know, and you don't know, and nobody knows.
He came slowly up to the open door, which was all hung round with
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Arizona Nights by Stewart Edward White: ledge, of the same material, might be attacked, we had no means
of knowing. Overcome with drowsiness, we again disposed our
blankets, resolved to get as many naps as possible before even
these constrained quarters were taken from us.
This happened sooner and in a manner otherwise than we had
expected. Windy Bill brought us to consciousness by a wild yell.
Consciousness reported to us a strange, hurried sound like the
long roll on a drum. Investigation showed us that this cave,
too, had sprung a leak; not with any premonitory drip, but all at
once, as though someone had turned on a faucet. In ten seconds a
very competent streamlet six inches wide had eroded a course down
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Letters of Two Brides by Honore de Balzac: superior to love. From all that you have told me of it, dear pet, I
gather that love has something terribly earthly about it, whilst a
strain of holy piety purifies the affection a happy mother feels for
the author of her far-reaching and enduring joys. A mother's happiness
is like a beacon, lighting up the future, but reflected also on the
past in the guise of fond memories.
The old l'Estorade and his son have moreover redoubled their devotion
to me; I am like a new person to them. Every time they see me and
speak to me, it is with a fresh holiday joy, which touches me deeply.
The grandfather has, I verily believe, turned child again; he looks at
me admiringly, and the first time I came down to lunch he was moved to
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