| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Modeste Mignon by Honore de Balzac: other Saint-somethings) together with several creeks which murmur and
flow with the tides of the sea. These half-deserted slopes of
Ingouville form a striking contrast to the terraces of fine villas
which overlook the valley of the Seine. Is the wind on this side too
strong for vegetation? Do the merchants shrink from the cost of
terracing it? However this may be, the traveller approaching Havre on
a steamer is surprised to find a barren coast and tangled gorges to
the west of Ingouville, like a beggar in rags beside a perfumed and
sumptuously apparelled rich man.
In 1829 one of the last houses looking toward the sea, and which in
all probability stands about the centre of the Ingouville to-day, was
Modeste Mignon |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy: She spoke in a whisper, trusting that in the general hubbub of
the crowd her words would remain unheeded by all, save the man at her
side.
"Quiet and peace reigned supreme, fair lady; at that hour I
was asleep in one corner of one sofa and Sir Percy Blakeney in
another."
"Nobody came into the room at all?"
"Nobody."
"Then we have failed, you and I?"
"Yes! we have failed--perhaps. . ."
"But Armand?" she pleaded.
The Scarlet Pimpernel |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Underground City by Jules Verne: Simon did not answer immediately--his mind evidently engaged
in a close and candid survey of his past life. Presently,
raising his head, "No," said he; "no! Heaven be my witness,
neither Madge nor I have ever injured anybody. We cannot
believe that we have a single enemy in the world."
"Ah! if Nell would only speak!" cried the engineer.
"Mr. Starr--and you, father," said Harry, "I do beg of you to keep
silence on this matter, and not to question my poor Nell. I know she
is very anxious and uneasy; and I feel positive that some great secret
painfully oppresses her heart. Either she knows nothing it would be
of any use for us to hear, or she considers it her duty to be silent.
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